Rel.: 09/01/2003

Format: CD

Chica and the Folder have packed their bags: With old Tibetan carpets, woven into Else Lasker Schüler's poems that Chica learned in school and still knows by heart. With Croatian traditionals, made for several voices and originally sung by sad and mourning women, but now turned into punk - sung by punks who don't cry but shout for lost love. With a coverversion that might make Martin L. Gore cut all his nails. With a very sad broadcasting-address. All this and more easily fits into Chica and the Folder's small and light bags, their hand luggage... And it sounds like a dear fairytale: So why not taking a trip to the Bavarian Alps straight away? Climbing mountains, sitting on their peaks, whispering those tales in each other's ears; bread and butter in one, a mike in the other hand... Chica and the Folder are the last Romantics; together they spun and condensed it all. The concept of the album tangles but eventually finds itself at the end of the night, falls into its own arms and into sleep - tired but proud. Now the bags are waiting at the door; packed and ready to be taken to the next trip. When everyone is sleeping, once again Chica tiptoes out of her room; she takes some dried peas out of a can and drops them into her bag - you never know who's gonna wake up beside you tomorrow. People are passing by, visiting. To Chica and the Folder they are all welcome and hospitably invited to stay. The Folder does a little sweeping in his harddisc to provide the guest with a little corner in little eternity. Chica and the Folder are not a couple but a pair, they don't belong together but then again they do in a way. And this is the more irresistable as one can imagine the two of them sitting together rummaging their bags for more souvenirs in order to create new music up into a far future... I know Chica, for we both have children who have to be friends with each other, so that we (and for this obvious reason only alternately and never together) can slip into the night. I know how Chica is looking when she leaves her daughter with me in the evening and how she is when she calls for her again in the morning. It's lives between these looks because Chica is from Chile and people from Chile cannot avoid excitement and adventure. They are always looking for a secret that's worth telling a story. And when they have told the story over and over again, just like that it has become a fairytale. Or a record. Charlotte Goltermann

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