Concert Vault

Saturday Sun

2KHz (London, England)

Jul 23, 2012

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  1. 1 Welcome to Daytrotter 00:06
  2. 2 Crocodile Skin 07:42
  3. 3 Le Monge Snail 03:19
  4. 4 Peaked 04:44
  5. 5 Awake 02:37
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Liner Notes

Where do Saturday Sun songs go? It's a question that's formed with awe. The first song on this set clocks in at nearly eight minutes and still, the way the group orchestrates and bends those minutes, it feels no longer than a blink. It was barely here and still it was memorable. It was something that occupied us. It was delicate and it was demanding. It seemed as if it had been made through inner-turmoil that couldn't help itself, but to spill out onto the streets. It took over the way we suddenly felt.

These were the lights bouncing off of broken windows, hitting our eyes with cautious prettiness. They were piercing through the darkness that surrounded everything else, working their ways up through the boundless growth. Winds swirled, locusts appeared - audibly, but never physically, always up in the trees, hugging onto the bark, crying out into the night's moonlit sprawl. Suddenly, without much warning, everything is set off, scorching itself, charring what's there, before settling down again to let the bogeymen, or those earnest notions, whichever they may be, get back into their cages.

The sounds calm themselves. They stop breathing so heavily and they snap out of it, still with the soul of a man hanging tight to the strings that he has left, those he hasn't severed. It feels like a catharsis that's far from over, maybe just for one night.

Saturday Sun Official Site

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More Saturday Sun

Where do Saturday Sun songs go? It's a question that's formed with awe. The first song on this set clocks in at nearly eight minutes and still, the way the group orchestrates and bends those minutes, it feels no longer than a blink. It was barely here and still it was memorable. It was something that occupied us. It was delicate and it was demanding. It seemed as if it had been made through inner-turmoil that couldn't help itself, but to spill out onto the streets. It took over the way we suddenly felt.

These were the lights bouncing off of broken windows, hitting our eyes with cautious prettiness. They were piercing through the darkness that surrounded everything else, working their ways up through the boundless growth. Winds swirled, locusts appeared - audibly, but never physically, always up in the trees, hugging onto the bark, crying out into the night's moonlit sprawl. Suddenly, without much warning, everything is set off, scorching itself, charring what's there, before settling down again to let the bogeymen, or those earnest notions, whichever they may be, get back into their cages.

The sounds calm themselves. They stop breathing so heavily and they snap out of it, still with the soul of a man hanging tight to the strings that he has left, those he hasn't severed. It feels like a catharsis that's far from over, maybe just for one night.

Saturday Sun Official Site