Opening as the provider of solace, Fiesta’s saxophone breathes grace into saluting lungs, and assists the ease of such with plumes of waltzing bass. It is a firm liar. An opening scene twist through restless guns.
Off they charge!
The song barks into the life of a virile orgy with fanciful instrumentation and bleating drives of drunken babble fodder – of times and moments had. “Come all you rambling boys of pleasure and ladies of easy leisure.” The swift strumming of guitar accompanies prancing accordion through an entire rush of musical ecstasy before coming to cartoon conclusion. “There is a minstrel! There! You see?” Fiesta is sheer electricity, without flinch and without apology. It leaves no time for thought or for the now; it is a call to reaction and the faster pulse. Pure pleasure. [Charge.]