GINGA are four young men, who lost their way walking too far into the woods last summer. There, they made it through the winter on two drums, a one-stringed guitar and an old violin. Now, they are strolling back home with 13 sing-songs decorated with bambi-violins, RíníB and punk-inserts, destiny-organs or solidarity-choirs, one-string-riffs and eccentric percussion.
New and old chlichees are thrown around like pieces of a scenery or hung up like balloons, decorating the simple yet revealing, fresh melodies and rhymes as a colourful, dense, cinematic panorama. The voice oscillates from come-on-baby-charm to finger-snapping-falsetto-refrains, from the sinister ‘fever comes and fever goes, when and why nobody knows’ to the dandy-lamento ‘still you turn me on, still you turn me down’.
