It’s that time of year.
Not just festival season, but the double-slap of flog-tastic workaholicism finished off with a whiskey-laced lacquer of weeknight seshes.
The coffee grinds, the teeth grind, the stale cigarette sandwiched between well-used sneaker and gravely pavement grinds, the bus screeches to a stop and suddenly you’re stumbling through your door at 2am with a 7am alarm set for work the next morning.
And then there’s the festival- your belly-of-a-whale-sized, appropriately blue-whale coloured IKEA bag balloons with the weight of a lifetime supply (or so you think) of Heineken tallboys, drought-ready water sacks, 5 different styles of chunky-smooth peanut butter. You throw off the heaping bag with the agility of a mid-00s Laura Croft, you pitch your Quechua tent with the dexterity ingrained by 5-years of library-PC’d Amazon Trail, you turn off your signal-less handheld computer and fade into the blissful parallel universe, into the blur of a 3-day camping festival.
Leiden’s Most Beautiful is the perfect sonic representation of this ecstatic excursion. The loungey synths echo beachy waves are overlaid with the unfamiliar sensuality of foreign encounters with detuned Spanish spoken word. Most Beautiful is not linked to socials; it is a fleeting flame with ear-catching allure. It is a crisply pulchritudinous synopsis, a quick four-track whiff; it’s nothing more than a sultry scent bookmarking a starry-eyed memory.