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The rain cascades down upon the attic window, seemingly auditioning for the grandest of sodden symphonies, as the boy looks up from his worn, dog-eared copy of 'Catcher In The Rye', just in time to hear his mother call him down for dinner. He's a bit of a shy one, this lad, and some would go as far as to call him a loner, huddled up in solitude within the secure confines of his own room, his sanctuary, his cocoon. Posters of jet aeroplanes and Debbie Harry adorn his walls, and the air possesses the faintest scent of stale crisps, occasionally wafting out from under his desk, the desk he does his homework at. It is 1979, and this 18-year-old is fast becoming a man.
It's 2002, as the muted thud of a padded parcel resounds from the hallway. Mail awaits. A CD. The eponymous album by a certain Spinvis is here to be listened to by the ever-critical journalist, its songs to be dissected, its lyrics to be psychoanalysed, its minimalist and amateurishly sympathetic artwork to be pored over by this so-called arbiter of good taste. Much has been written about this Mr. Spinvis in the newspapers as of late. The journalist has been able to glean few facts about the mysterious hermit-like figure behind this shadowy project. He is 41, a father of two children, and he lives in the Dutch burgh of Nieuwegein. Other than that he is anonymous, choosing to let his work, this music that so impressed the other arbiters of good taste (yes, his record company), speak for itself. The journalist has only read positive, veritably glowing reviews as yet, and he sits and ponders whether his review, his brief write-up, will mean that he too will join the ranks of well-wishers and Spinvis enthusiasts. And so he begins...
... To say that all of the hype, all of the acclaim, is - for once - completely deserved. This enigmatic persona, this Spinvis, is indeed a great new talent on the low horizon that pronounces itself The Dutch Music Scene. His music is that of a lover, a true connoisseur, of not just sounds, but of sound itself, of a love of quirkiness, instant gratification, possessing more hooks than a sheet of Velcro. His words are gentle and minutely observant mini-novellas, immersed in thoughtful reverie. The influences are many - some will hear the processed loops, the up-front vocals, the pseudo-French chanteuse gently warbling, while others will only audibly absorb the sweeping choruses - and luckily Spinvis is able to transform this multitude of sounds and influences, this tapestry of adolescent music history, into his own unique creation.
The man emerges from his cocoon. He's been waiting, waiting to share his passion, his love, his dreams with you. It's time for dinner, Mr. Spinvis.
http://www.kindamuzik.net/recensie/spinvis/spinvis/1439/
Meer Spinvis op KindaMuzik: http://www.kindamuzik.net/artiest/spinvis
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