In Trinity-Bellwoods park, during the zenith of a hot spring, a serenade is not uncommon. It is the point when the realization of fleeting summer romance is in full swing, when the hardness of winter's protective shells has finally been shed in full and the body is ready to feel the warm rays of the season against the freshly discovered skin.
The songs of Little Scream are conceived in the sheltered lab of a cold winter. They are songs that dream of summer, songs that break free when the earth breathes free of it's winter coat, and life begins to teem in the branches overhead.
The approach of their sound is timid. It is barely audible as it attempts to break free in bold form, directly into the crowds who don't know they need it yet. The result is not unanimous. To those that allow its approach though, there is a wash of sunshine that colours their view, allows for an opening. It is the music of awkward heat played on a thawing lake.
It is a music of release and renewal.
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