Bonobo

In a foreign land. You haven’t heard your native language in weeks. Walking thru the market you  hear what seems to be sweet music to you ears. The English language. You put down the wonderfully odd shaped piece of fruit and rush to meet the sound. You ask them where they are from and they could be from Maine or Arizona or South Dakota but none of that matters because at that moment you are both connected on such a deeper level. Whether they are Mormon or Vegetarian or Republican or a Broncos fan means nothing. The excitement is great. You want to know all about this person and their travels and life and childhood. At least I do. I have found an artist who speaks my language. It feels as though he has read my journals, saw my thoughts and somehow, translated all of that into song. I feel exposed when listening to his work. It feels right and necessary and honest.

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