Going Home

GOING HOME

pbelgium begins, letting bright melodic runs spill into the room, little sparks skipping across the groove as Madrid slowly exhales into morning. The band leans in — drums playing softly, bass warming the floorboards, organ glowing like first light.

Then frenq rises with his EWI, answering those guitar phrases with a feather‑light jazzy trumpet solo, drifting and circling, a gentle counterweight to the blues fire still hanging in the air. pbelgium breaks away for a moment, releasing a blazing blues solo that cuts through the dim café like a sudden memory. frenq catches the echo, sending back light a jazzy run, the two voices spiraling upward toward an ending that feels like a window opening.

And the old man in the corner?

He lifts his head.
The music has reached him.
His thoughts loosen, his chest softens, and for the first time in a long while, he feels the world returning to him.

Madrid wakes.
And so does he, but what do you think of the music?

frenq