The guitar plays like dappled light on the forest floor. But what comes next is more violent than the rush of wind moving the trees above you. It’s the bellicose thunder of tidal waves crashing down. They recede and, looking out at the tempestuous sea, you are lulled by its apparent distance. But the tide ebbs and flows and the waves are upon you again, soaking you to the skin. Feed leaves you awed.
The impotent pulsing of a desire unfulfilled. Like a ritual dance, bells clanging, seeking consummation. The drum keeps pace as you dance around a green, green fire in ever narrowing circles until it all peters out, the fire, the drum, and your dance. Green Fire leaves you wanting.
The Steams are based in Athens and, fittingly, their sound is neither east nor west, but always journeying between points unknown.
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