Call me moonchild. Dancing in the shallows of a river. Let’s believe summer rain is a perfume that spreads the feeling of being lost in a season. In between march and may, Yasuuaki Shimizu makes Japanese electro-jazz flowers blossom. Our toes intertwine covered with algae. Let’s keep on jumping into puddles until we reach the climax of Paul White’s trippy musical imaginary, and I splash your arms of endless cuddles.
