Laying on an inspiral carpet, spiral cord plugged in to spinning record. Hands clasping headphones on ears tightly, wringing out every drop of solid sound. Pressing each drum beat, every prescise swell of horn, every vocal inflection deeper into the places of the brain that transcribes them as goosebumps on our arms, that transmit them as signals to move our feet, that make hearts feel full to the point of exploding. In our headphone world we didn't stop 'till we had enough, we had the eye of the tiger, and time after time we were one step over the borderline. Now we live the dancefloor reality that we imagined so viscerally those afternoons and lazy evenings on our parent's living room floors. We sing the songs that cause the heart swells and goosebumps. We are the music makers we are the dreamers of the dream. xo hibou