Truböpp doesn't have a face, and it doesn't really have a home base either. Every track starts somewhere: a train line, a kitchen table, a question asked way too high up, and turns into music without a single word getting in the way.

There's no frontman here, on purpose. The music does the talking. The name, the mark, the gold-on-black world around it. None of that's trying to be the main character. It's just there to carry the sound.

Many places. One journey.