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Very good. We’ve already written books about Max Columbi’s dazzling shirts. How gravity is momentarily canceled out when he swings it on stage. How the stars twinkle in its reflection. How the earth rotates on its axis. How the normally calm music journalist’s heart suddenly skips a beat when that shiny shirt appears in his field of vision. And today there is something new in Max Casey’s arsenal. Disco Ball Gloves. they are gorgeous. Duh.
Last year in the Lowlands we saw how Belgian superstar Colombie experienced his revival: he canceled shows after shows as he had to fight his demons – a toxic cocktail of depression and addiction – and in Biedinghuizen he found his Celebrated the emotional comeback. Those who listened closely to his music already knew that he had an unhealthy relationship with the night. Night as a black hole, with its all-consuming allure that swallows you up when you get too close. And men you can meet at night, in whose shadow you want to transform, for whom you want to give up everything, for whom you want to disappear.
Thankfully Max Columbi doesn’t look like he’s gone today. No, today Max Columbia is floating on a pink cloud. After the opening song ‘Warrior’ (which became an anthem for his mental struggle) he turns to a new musical love: disco. New songs like “Donnie’s Dream” and “Dancing Machine” feature feather-light funk guitar beats, pumping bass lines, and a percussionist who isn’t afraid to use chimes, and oldie “Breathing” gets a Dua Lipa makeover, too. It’s strapped straight to ‘On Fire’, a psych disco tune that reminds me a bit of Tame Impala at the time. currents,
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