In 1988, one year before the Revolution, Alexandru Andrieș released the album Despre Distanțe through Electrecord. It was his fifth LP and, like all releases of the era, it had been approved by communist censorship. No word could reach vinyl without passing through the filter of the Securitate.

And yet, Andrieș managed something almost impossible: writing lyrics that seemed personal — about love, distance, loneliness — but which, for those listening carefully, were about something entirely different. About the fear of speaking openly. About borders that could not be crossed. About the distances the regime created between people.

The censors approved the lyrics because they were too ambiguous to openly accuse. The listeners understood exactly what they meant. It was a code hidden in plain sight.

Andrieș, an architect by profession and singer-songwriter at Club A, became one of the few Romanian artists who endured communism through intelligence rather than direct confrontation. Despre Distanțe remains one of the most elegant proofs that poetry can tell the truth without ever saying it outright.

Recommended track: She is serious all the time (Ea e serioasă tot timpul)