Scalde
Poperetta, an album of a dark kind of feverishness, a lo-fi opera fed on electro-organic subtleties in which the fluttering chorus buzzes drunk around the light of hypnotic loops, where the vocal patchwork brings together the sensitivity of Robert Wyatt with the solitude of Tim Buckley, haunts the darker depths of Nico, the labyrinths of Terry Riley or the unexplored mountain tops of Björk.