Friday 16th January 2015

This is a trio of strong heads to a spark to inflame the crowd. A chrome name which Shimmers a part of America and the fifties wild, remembrance of Elvis and Johnny Cash at Sun studios, but this is only a facade of bakelite. Jean Felzine (vocals - guitar), Johan Gentile (bass) and Remi Faure (drums) have nothing in common with the second-hand arched at a golden age of rock'roll point is stuck in vertebrates. They are young, in their boots, and they spin to open Tomb, always forward, using the retro (viewfinder) only to feed a style that grows along the way at the same speed. And pace, they do lack, what spoils nothing! With their first two albums, A71 (2009) and taboo (2011), they have helped whip the hips of a french rock music that had rarely been dealing with such aesthetes, while a surprise EP by occasions (Brassens, Claire, Bashung...) proved the elasticity of their intentions. But we had yet seen anything.

The precedents were albums by impulses, proudly immature and built in the urgency of the studio as it extends to the scene. For once, écran total, these young calves pressed decided arise a little longer, work by craftsmen their compositions, to treat each note, each arrangement, and to give words that fall with accuracy and elegance, wielding perfidious humour and modest tenderness. As they are not musicians to 'concept', still less "in universe", they wanted this third album as a harmonious sequence of songs which, individually, could turn into a fantastical Jukebox 45 rpm with neighbours of cab Elvis, Velvet, Dutronc, Christophe, Alan Vega, Kraftwerk, and the Meters. Their only real allegiance to the past lies precisely in their non-negotiable love for songs, for their biblical simplicity, their contoured lines and their power to encapsulate décor and a story in 3 minutes chrono. Cleverly, they also play full tube with this somewhat outdated collégien romanticism that has nurtured so many movies and hours of tapes, and at the outset of the wounded birds walking stride in their handset. With as much acidity in the guitars and the verb as the Smiths, without girls Comme Toi is part of the same juvenile mind the cadors of celluloid. Boogie Jerry - Lee Thunderbolt upside, Lewisian or the rockab' rough I screw Des Hauts that turns to epilepsy synthetic way Suicide,. are in the same line. But with display total there's also a more rugged Mustang, outside its traditional tags, as in the title song, which evokes more readily the mists of New Wave as flashes of rock' n'roll. Similarly, the apparent (but sneaky) lightness a title as the meaning of the business succeeds a poignant song (my onions) country that the Group wanted as a tribute to the popular melodramas of Hank Williams. For girls who dance, they had in mind transposition novo of the heart-rending ballads of Brill Building illuminated neon 80s instead of the 60's shade. Inhabited entirely by the ardour of the trio, the very player and funky tonight or never that closing the fire way of fireworks album.

To give body to their multiple desires and further refine their style, they have once again made call to Stéphane "Alf" Briat, already at the controls on taboo, which is probably the only Director french able so swallow whole swathes of pop music and learn a timeless sound. With his accomplice Raphaël Seguin, and thanks to the perfect alchemy that he has been able to create with Mustang, he pilots now in Goldsmith, Alf was particularly valuable to achieve a form touching simplicity that gives all their emotional strength to titles like serious people or death crap. They may not have the business acumen, are probably too idealistic for this, but our three lascars have obviously that of songwriting as little of current french groups. On this plan, success is also total.

Loading bag contents...