If Milanku draws its origins from the work of Milan Kundera, the soundtrack is definitely more on the side of the thundering density of the being than of its "unbearable lightness", galvanized by the Czech author. From the start, Milanku hammers out its brutal character, infused with melancholy, even dystopia, and standing straight upright on the wire: defiant, shouting and inspired. Mesmerized by the warrior's rage, flayed by its own doldrums, the quartet relies on pared-down arrangements and an oft-staged vocal presence, harmonizing like an instrument, and howling at the big time, but plastered with a disquieting sense of dilettante. At the heart of the enterprise, tearing off the peels of flapping skins, we explore the state of affairs of the contemporary genre, tragic, desolate, where any notion of common sense seems diffuse in the amalgam of trompe-l'oeil. The texts are meditative, inquisitive, and the observations that emanate from them, weep, and persist in trying to make sense of it, through its ever-growing losses of illusion.