Thin lines. Between genius and madness. Between success and failure. Between order and chaos. Is that what Thinium is about? Or is this the Immortal Onion‘s way of reminding us of the tissue paper layers in the vegetable that makes us cry?

This Polish jazz trio has appeared here before – in February 2021 I gave a 5-star rating to their 2017 album Ocelot of Salvation. Since then, they have added two more albums to their catalogue: XD [Experience Design] in 2020 and Screens, a collaboration with saxophonist, Michał Jan, released last year. Both are highly regarded at the Crotchety Studio. Thinium is a preview of what the Onion describes as a ‘compilation’ due for release in the autumn. As far as I can tell, though, this is new material.

Today’s track-of-the-week nuzzles up to Penguin Café while it listens attentively to a Hidden Orchestra. It qualifies for my hashtag ‘orchestral beats’, even in the absence of typical orchestral instrumentation. It’s a style that suits personal reflection. So, I’m dedicating this week’s post to our cat, Persephone, who died last week.

It’s only when you lose a pet that you realise just how much they were a part of your life. We no longer have to fill up her food bowl, of course. Nor do we have to keep the bedroom door closed to stop her leaving hairs on the duvet and hiding among the suitcases under the bed. We don’t have to spread blankets over the sofas to avoid muddy paw prints on the cushions. If she is out of sight, we don’t have to check that she isn’t using the stairs carpet as a toilet, or that she went outside and we forgot to let her in again. We won’t have to restrain her when she wants to share our T.V. dinners with us. And we won’t have to watch for dark grey shapes out of the corner of our eyes in case we find her under our feet.

In her old age, Persephone was an expensive nuisance, but a lovable one, and we shall miss her. Her passing reminds us that there is sometimes a thin line between life and death.