For fourteen minutes you could be served some kind of piano performance safely tucked away in a firm and friendly bed of lobit noise. A layer that feels like a plastered wall of fuzzy kindness with plenty of holes in it to let the coziness of the piano performance slip through.
It’s as if on the other side of that wall is a private concert done by a virtuoso who entertains a restaurant establishment & we can tune and peek in like a peeking Tom with ears as eyes. The fuzz of the fuzzy layer might be thick enough for them not to see that we are secretly enjoying along, but the sound of the show is loud enough for us to be picked up and enjoy.
Somehow it feels like an odd contrast, a bizarre yin and yang of us starving and hungry in a bleak room with a crunch noise on one side, and a rich establishment with piano and probably lots of food and cigars on the other. Still with a bit of imagination it feels as if we can have both at one.