Tristan Brusch paints his face with watercolors. A faded feathery pattern fills the space around his eyes, makes him the fairy tale’s queer bird. He certainly is the odd bird among Berlin’s singer songwriters. His songs are the metaphysical cure to everyday’s weltschmerz, like an esoteric Damon Albarn he flutters through dreamy landscapes of gentle guitars, jolty beats and occasional signs of life from outer space. 

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