TBH
The Bird Yellow
The Bird Yellow is not at peace with himself. People who ran into him on the streets of Barcelona or on Flushing Avenue in Brooklyn late at night will tell you about a hunched silhouette and a somewhat erratic course. He has been seen dancing in the Barcelona subway and talking to himself in Central Park. Some will describe a long beard and crazy hair, others a perfectly shaved head. The soul behind The Bird Yellow is on fire. His new album is not the result of a comfortable stay in a prestigious recording studio: it was created in small rooms scattered across different continents in times of confusion. Because, to quote Sonic Youth, "confusion is sex." The Bird Yellow's new album is called TBH (to be honest) because it digs into the soul of its creator in a ruthless way. It would be a lie to say that Gerard Vidal Barrena has found himself making the record: there are many more questions than answers in the twelve songs. TBH was created in small rooms scattered across different continents in times of turmoil.  There are frenetic rhythms and mellow ballads, sweet melodies and choruses that screech like a rusty saw. There is indie folk, electronica, techno and spoken word. All in all, TBH is just another stage in the long quest of a singer with a formidable talent that tightens around his neck like a noose.

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