Let’s remember the big stirrup in the rear end of the impossible: in November 2021, the prolific of prolific promised 11 albums of new songs in 111 days. Here is the eighth… and the ninth. At the same time. No choice: time flies, you have to produce. What she does with her usual brio. And not just a bit of audacity: it’s the big gap between the approaches! The eighth part overflows with tenderness, prettiness and indulgence towards people and herself (in The Rainbow, a striking self-portrait); the ninth takes out the wicked, intensely quips, pot-cultivates the not-beautiful. It stinks in every corner of Nausea… oh well. It “stinks of hate” in Air ducts. There Confession of a Narcissist sounds too fair not to serve as a mirror. Tumidity ? Saliva story. Red string ? History of aggression, from the point of view of the unpunished aggressor. Let’s say it bluntly: we appreciate the drooling Lynda much more. And we suspect she knows it.
To see in video