Dino Brandão is now Dino Brandão and he doesn't know exactly what that means. Identity does not mean being the same, but at the same time. Luanda and Brugg at the same time. Simultaneously flying and falling, the good knee and the broken knee, the old medicine. Dance music that pays homage to anomalies in the head and biographical irregularities. Gladly with a chorus, because Dino Brandão is still a cancioneiro, devoted to the song and the bittersweet symphony, a friend of the grand gesture. He unfolds this small pop music map of the world in skewed proportions. He has an eye for the baroque, the ornament, strokes the drums of yesteryear, plays the foggy synthesiser, kicks on the drum machine - gleefully entangled in all directions. Dino Brandão can be all of this without skipping a beat. He dances on the shards, somewhere the flugelhorn is playing.