Hoa Queen is a flower that comes from abroad. Bold and white, it breaks through the night before dying in the pale morning light. A beauty just given and already gone. Its petals will never taste the dew. Hoa Queen is one, all, or several women. The one screaming her pain, the one spitting her anger, the one that daydreams on a cell bench. An army of wounded bodies and wandering souls marching with grace through a scarlet night. A parade of damaged silhouettes dancing along with the intensity of despair. Marjorie, awaiting for death in a row, Lucia, giving away her flesh and self for money, Aileen taking her preys to the edges of a wood. Lizzie, Willow, Betty. Hoa Queen tells their stories, writes them on skins and strings. 5 musicians who have already been playing here and there, together and apart. 5 musicians carried by the whispers of those broken women, tuned to emotions, walking on a tightrope to create music coming from a deep place that smells like cotton, mud, sun and night, tears and blood.
