BORN BAD RECORDS - Forced Exposure

$16.50 PREORDER RELEASE DATE: 8/2/2019

An ultimate testimony to adolescent rage and the spirit of rock n' roll, these eight songs by Les Blousons Noirs (Black Jackets) are essential to understanding what rock music is and what it should always be: determined, primitive and wild. Originally from Bordeaux, Les Blousons Noirs seem to have bought their instruments the morning of their recording session: the singer sings out of time, the drummer is feverish and the guitarist a total whack. Nothing is repressed with Les Blousons Noirs. Their enthusiasm and carefree attitude are such that the songs are delightfully exuberant. Their two unusually unique EPs were released in 1961 (Special Rock) and 1962 (Special Twist) on the Guilain label. And as a French band, they quite naturally decided to cover French rock standards... slaying them with enthusiasm. Les Chaussettes Noires (The Black Socks), Les Chats Sauvages (The Wild Cats), and two of Johnny Hallyday's songs were thus brought to the spotlight. The only original track was "Les Fous Du Twist" (Crazy for the Twist) written by their young producer Claude Ghislain. For the record, their "Eddy Soit Bon" (Eddy be Good) was originally Chuck Berry's "Johnny B Good". The fact that they used the same picture for the cover of both EPs reinforces the feeling of total uselessness and "don't give a fuck" attitude that is so often embraced by rock n' roll. Les Blousons Noirs were forerunners of the French punk and DIY scenes. Remember that it wasn't until 1964 that Hasil Adkins published his "She Said", 1965 that the Peruvians of Los Saicos put out "Demolicion", and 1966 that the Legendary Stardust Cowboy delivered his killer "Paralysed". The Shaggs and their late Philosophy Of The World in '69 were too late to the game. In order to become a band with a cult following, all Les Blousons Noirs had to do was remain anonymous. Our investigations to try and identify these rock n' rollers were futile. The only information regarding the identity of Les Blousons Noirs comes from Marc Liozon (Editor-in-Chief of the club des années 60 fanzine) who found a copy of the second EP dedicated to a certain Minie. This exposed that the band was comprised of Clod on lead guitar, Jo on rhythm guitar, Did on drums, and Samy on vocals -- a nice bunch! In short, no known identities, no concerts, no pictures, two insane EPs out of nowhere.

$18.00 PREORDER RELEASE DATE: 7/19/2019

LP version. Printed under sleeve; Includes download code. The record starts out with an esoteric organ, a guitar straight out of a Western, a vibey rhythm section, a speeding saxophone, a glamorous voice, a curious keyboard, a slightly panicky tempo. "Please Mr Hitchock!" calls out a voice from the unknown, on an arrangement that's about to lose control. "Eins Zwei Drei", cries out Spartaco Andreoli, creator of the chachacha for tunas, lyrics that are absurd accompanying music that isn't so much so. "C'est bon ça dis donc!" (This is pretty good), suggest the Los Goragueros, at the start of their "Mambo Miam Miam" (Yum Yum). A smooth sax, a double bass that sways, and shattering percussions, this song anonymously written by Alain Goraguer is actually quite tasty. This arranger and pianist, who went on to write the indispensable Planète Sauvage (Wild Planet), is not the only one to have advanced half-masked in these tropical times. Tropical music and France go way back. The influential Brazilian musician Pixinguinha came through in 1922, the charismatic Cuban singer Rita Montaner triumphed a few years later, and the brilliant clarinetist Stellio from Martinique had everyone dancing through the night to the beguine. It's in bars where Don Marino Barreto's orchestra made the heyday of a surreal and carefree Paris. And after the Second World War, it started all over again. Rico's Creole Band was one of the great Creole orchestras to sway all of Paris, the Blomet Ball brought together the Afro-Caribbean communities, L'Escale became an essential dancing ground for lovers of Latin music, the pianist Eddie Warner was one of these pillars. Shortly after, the Los Machucambos, a South American band created in the Latin Quarter performed music between guajira and flamenco and its song "Pepito" marked the start of the trio's success. Chachacha was officially invented in the early 1950s by Enrique Jorrin, soon followed by the pachanga, becoming a staple of black-and-white films. This Chachacha affair is emblematic of the atypical history of popular music, that of back-alleys, far from the paths and furrows of glory. In terms of Latin music, these records that were patiently found in flea markets are becoming a rarity. These 7-inch vinyl records were recorded at Barclay, Vogue and company -- low-consumption products intended to supply the shelves of budding suburban supermarkets. Features Cassius Simon, Spartaco Andreoli, Billy's Sax, Los Albinos, Los Goragueros, Rol Basti, Gillian Hills, Spartaco Sax, Norman Maine, Les Bretelles, Los Chiquitos, Norman Maine, Jack Ary, Henri Salvador & Jean Yanne, Les Gouapes A Musique, Los Cangaceiros, and Les Kili Cats.

$14.00 PREORDER RELEASE DATE: 7/19/2019

The record starts out with an esoteric organ, a guitar straight out of a Western, a vibey rhythm section, a speeding saxophone, a glamorous voice, a curious keyboard, a slightly panicky tempo. "Please Mr Hitchock!" calls out a voice from the unknown, on an arrangement that's about to lose control. "Eins Zwei Drei", cries out Spartaco Andreoli, creator of the chachacha for tunas, lyrics that are absurd accompanying music that isn't so much so. "C'est bon ça dis donc!" (This is pretty good), suggest the Los Goragueros, at the start of their "Mambo Miam Miam" (Yum Yum). A smooth sax, a double bass that sways, and shattering percussions, this song anonymously written by Alain Goraguer is actually quite tasty. This arranger and pianist, who went on to write the indispensable Planète Sauvage (Wild Planet), is not the only one to have advanced half-masked in these tropical times. Tropical music and France go way back. The influential Brazilian musician Pixinguinha came through in 1922, the charismatic Cuban singer Rita Montaner triumphed a few years later, and the brilliant clarinetist Stellio from Martinique had everyone dancing through the night to the beguine. It's in bars where Don Marino Barreto's orchestra made the heyday of a surreal and carefree Paris. And after the Second World War, it started all over again. Rico's Creole Band was one of the great Creole orchestras to sway all of Paris, the Blomet Ball brought together the Afro-Caribbean communities, L'Escale became an essential dancing ground for lovers of Latin music, the pianist Eddie Warner was one of these pillars. Shortly after, the Los Machucambos, a South American band created in the Latin Quarter performed music between guajira and flamenco and its song "Pepito" marked the start of the trio's success. Chachacha was officially invented in the early 1950s by Enrique Jorrin, soon followed by the pachanga, becoming a staple of black-and-white films. This Chachacha affair is emblematic of the atypical history of popular music, that of back-alleys, far from the paths and furrows of glory. In terms of Latin music, these records that were patiently found in flea markets are becoming a rarity. These 7-inch vinyl records were recorded at Barclay, Vogue and company -- low-consumption products intended to supply the shelves of budding suburban supermarkets. Features Cassius Simon, Spartaco Andreoli, Billy's Sax, Los Albinos, Los Goragueros, Rol Basti, Gillian Hills, Spartaco Sax, Norman Maine, Les Bretelles, Los Chiquitos, Norman Maine, Jack Ary, Henri Salvador & Jean Yanne, Les Gouapes A Musique, Los Cangaceiros, and Les Kili Cats.

$14.00 PREORDER RELEASE DATE: 6/7/2019

Remember those moth-eaten American bands on unreachable Midwest labels that, in the mid-1990s, would drop choruses that would make the Smashing Pumpkins green with envy, with the crummiest sound in the history of electricity? Maybe not. Well, Bryan's Magic Tears could have been one of them. This project launched four years ago by Benjamin Dupont (Dame Blanche), which features members and ex-members of La Secte Du Futur and Marietta, indeed has it all to occupy this niche, which, by the way, has quite fallen into disuse these days: toxic melodies, guitars oscillating between whiplashes and caresses, ghostly sonorities, and a convoluted name referring to some obscure Parisian acid dealer. But wait: this is not about a vain stylistic exercise put together by some gifted kids who fantasize about a time they missed, nor a sad revivalist meeting of old farts who still haven't gotten over turning 40. If listening to Bryan's Magic Tears brings the '90s to mind, it's not because of the sound, but because of a state of mind that was peculiar to the time and to this particular moment in adolescence, when the last illusions aroused by the fall of the Berlin Wall were slowly fading away, when the dark clouds of the first Gulf War were piling up; this carefree, jaded spleen perfectly depicted in Gregg Araki's films or in songs by Sebadoh, Beat Happening, or Nirvana -- or even in this famous line from Lou Reed's "Romeo Had Juliet": "It's hard to give a shit these days". A state of mind that remains pure, intact, limpid in Bryan's Magic Tears music, free from any posture or cynicism, at the service of insane titles which made their first album (2016). And you find it again today, even more intense and precise on 4 AM, a collection of insane hits -- "Ghetto Blaster", "CEO", "Changes", the whole album could actually be mentioned. A record made for those clear and cool days of spring when everything suddenly looks brighter, clearer, and more intense. An obvious, indestructible, lunar, romantic, arrogant, phlegmatic, disillusioned record. In short, a record that makes you wish you were 18 again. CD version comes as a digipack.

$17.50 IN STOCK

LP version. Includes download code. Remember those moth-eaten American bands on unreachable Midwest labels that, in the mid-1990s, would drop choruses that would make the Smashing Pumpkins green with envy, with the crummiest sound in the history of electricity? Maybe not. Well, Bryan's Magic Tears could have been one of them. This project launched four years ago by Benjamin Dupont (Dame Blanche), which features members and ex-members of La Secte Du Futur and Marietta, indeed has it all to occupy this niche, which, by the way, has quite fallen into disuse these days: toxic melodies, guitars oscillating between whiplashes and caresses, ghostly sonorities, and a convoluted name referring to some obscure Parisian acid dealer. But wait: this is not about a vain stylistic exercise put together by some gifted kids who fantasize about a time they missed, nor a sad revivalist meeting of old farts who still haven't gotten over turning 40. If listening to Bryan's Magic Tears brings the '90s to mind, it's not because of the sound, but because of a state of mind that was peculiar to the time and to this particular moment in adolescence, when the last illusions aroused by the fall of the Berlin Wall were slowly fading away, when the dark clouds of the first Gulf War were piling up; this carefree, jaded spleen perfectly depicted in Gregg Araki's films or in songs by Sebadoh, Beat Happening, or Nirvana -- or even in this famous line from Lou Reed's "Romeo Had Juliet": "It's hard to give a shit these days". A state of mind that remains pure, intact, limpid in Bryan's Magic Tears music, free from any posture or cynicism, at the service of insane titles which made their first album (2016). And you find it again today, even more intense and precise on 4 AM, a collection of insane hits -- "Ghetto Blaster", "CEO", "Changes", the whole album could actually be mentioned. A record made for those clear and cool days of spring when everything suddenly looks brighter, clearer, and more intense. An obvious, indestructible, lunar, romantic, arrogant, phlegmatic, disillusioned record. In short, a record that makes you wish you were 18 again.

$15.50 IN STOCK

LP version. Includes insert and download code. In current times, how should mental disability be dealt with in an unrestrained, open-minded way? How can society take on this difference not as a barrier but as an opportunity? By directly confronting its creative force and abounding energy. And what better place for this than on a stage, where disability ceases to be a "negative" and becomes a "positive", finally revealing exceptionally strong human beings, without any blinders or artifices. From experimental group Les Harry's, to hip-hop collective Choolers Division, to the multifaceted projects of Atelier Méditerranée (now Brut Pop), many are the initiatives that have explored this channel in recent years. The Wild Classical Music Ensemble is: Linh Pahm, Johan Geenens, Wim Decoene, and Sebastien Faidherbe, four mentally disabled persons, led by the Belgian musician and violin-maker Damien Magnette. The group's first album, released in confidentiality on Sub Rosa (SR 274CD, 2009), had gone under the radar and no one seemed to know how to approach it. Yet, no less than six labels (including Born Bad Records) grappled to put out Tapping Is Clapping in 2015 (BORNBAD 071LP), a new LP full of fire and fury, a record of an "other" category. And if in 2019 you still haven't dared to let yourself be hammered by the Wild Classical Musical Ensemble's steamroller, rest assured: the time to catch-up his here with Tout Va Bien Se Passer (Everything Will Be Alright), the ensemble's third record together and from far its most accessible yet. But careful, this isn't a sort of lull, far from it -- as evidenced by the exceptional "Bande De", a furious symphony of curses on which Fabrice, the singer of Frustration, stirs up an already stifling atmosphere. It's rather a convergence, a rebalancing of flows, and more accessible material. Making your trip to this parallel dimension more colorful and hallucinated. Orchestrated by Magnette's original instruments (percussion bass, melodica from outer space, devious microphones, effect pedals transformed into a Theremin), specifically designed for each member of the group. A trip full of dizzying earthquakes and triumphant storms, populated by jelly-like Talking Heads ("Trainstation") and damaged Devos ("Autofile"), where you will dance to lunar punk ("Carapace"), and screaming robot-rock ("Ik Ben Blij").

$14.00 IN STOCK

A bass player looking like the main character of a surf movie shot in Chernobyl. A guitar player who'll take French rap or Thaï music over the Stooges, anytime. A keyboard player invited at rehearsal by mistake who got the job because he fell asleep on his synth. An Australian poet-singer lost in France with no papers, sleeping in a cabin in the backyard of the Villejuif house where the whole band lives, sets up shows and records the most vital, exciting and enthralling records heard in France for a long, long time. PRs and managers would kill for such a story -- this one is 100% accurate and happened just like any great story: by chance. Just like the music of Le Villejuif Underground, the result of happy accidents and unholy alliances, something that was never meant to be but became an astonishing fandango of sorts. Think Fat White Family covering Oingo Boingo with Beat Happening's gear. Think Beck's One Foot In The Grave (1994) remixed by Daniel Johnston and Brian Wilson. Think Ausmuteants, the Spits, the Feeling Of Love, or A Frames when they really nailed it. Actually, you shouldn't think about any of this cause whatever you do, you'll still be far from reality. Way too far. Especially now with the release of When Will The Flies In Deauville Drop?, their second album and the first one on Born Bad Records. 11 tracks in a bit less than 40 minutes. 11 clumsy love letters to heavy backpacks, haunted castles, sleepy Parisian districts, and tours in China -- which happened by total chance, thanks to some girl found asleep on their couch on New Year's Eve. 11 reasons to think there's a way out of 2019 -- already. Your stormy love story with Le Villejuif Underground starts here. Be sure to enjoy it. To the max. CD version comes as a digipack.

$17.50 IN STOCK

LP version. Includes download code. A bass player looking like the main character of a surf movie shot in Chernobyl. A guitar player who'll take French rap or Thaï music over the Stooges, anytime. A keyboard player invited at rehearsal by mistake who got the job because he fell asleep on his synth. An Australian poet-singer lost in France with no papers, sleeping in a cabin in the backyard of the Villejuif house where the whole band lives, sets up shows and records the most vital, exciting and enthralling records heard in France for a long, long time. PRs and managers would kill for such a story -- this one is 100% accurate and happened just like any great story: by chance. Just like the music of Le Villejuif Underground, the result of happy accidents and unholy alliances, something that was never meant to be but became an astonishing fandango of sorts. Think Fat White Family covering Oingo Boingo with Beat Happening's gear. Think Beck's One Foot In The Grave (1994) remixed by Daniel Johnston and Brian Wilson. Think Ausmuteants, the Spits, the Feeling Of Love, or A Frames when they really nailed it. Actually, you shouldn't think about any of this cause whatever you do, you'll still be far from reality. Way too far. Especially now with the release of When Will The Flies In Deauville Drop?, their second album and the first one on Born Bad Records. 11 tracks in a bit less than 40 minutes. 11 clumsy love letters to heavy backpacks, haunted castles, sleepy Parisian districts, and tours in China -- which happened by total chance, thanks to some girl found asleep on their couch on New Year's Eve. 11 reasons to think there's a way out of 2019 -- already. Your stormy love story with Le Villejuif Underground starts here. Be sure to enjoy it. To the max.

$23.50 IN STOCK

Double LP version. Includes printed inner sleeve with liner notes both in French and English by Rabah Mezaouane; Includes download code. Mohamed Mazouni, born January 4, 1940 in Blida (The City of Roses), a city which had just turned twenty. His memory dragged around a lot of catchy refrains by Rabah Driassa and Abderrahmane Aziz, also natives of Blida, or by 'asri (modern music) masters Bentir or Lamari. He began his singing career in those years, chosing bedoui as a style. In June 1965, Algeria adopted a Soviet-style profile where everything was planned, even music. Mazouni, he followed his path, recording a few popular tunes, but he also was in the mood for traveling beyond the Mediterranean. During the 1950s and 1960s, Mohamed was dumbfounded by Oum Kalsoum's songs and scopitones. Fully immersed, he soaked up the songs of Dahmane El Harrachi, Slimane Azem, Akli Yahiaten, or Cheikh El Hasnaoui, but also those from the crazy years of twist and rock n' roll as embodied by Johnny Hallyday, Les Chaussettes Noires, or Les Chats Sauvages, not to mention Elvis Presley. Between 1970 and 1990, he had a series of hits. Mazouni, a dandy shattered by his century and always all spruced up who barely performed on stage, had greatly benefited from the impact of scopitones, the ancestors of music videos. His strength lay in Arabic lyrics all his compatriots could understand, and catchy melodies accompanied by violin, goblet drum, qanun, tar (a small tambourine with jingles), lute, and sometimes electric guitar on yé-yé compositions. Like a politician, Mazouni drew on all themes knowing that he would nail it each time. This earned him the nickname "Polaroid singer". Mohamed Mazouni crossed the 1960s and 1970s with his dark humor and unifying mix of local styles. Besides his trivial topics, he also denounced racism and the appalling condition of immigrant workers. However, his way of telling of high school girls, cars and pleasure places earned him the favors of France's young migrant zazous. At the end of the 1990s, the distribution of Michèle Collery and Anaïs Prosaïc's documentary on Arabic and Berber scopitones highlighted Mazouni's importance. Mazouni did not stop singing and even had a few local hits, always driven by a "wide targeting" ambition. This compilation, the first one dedicated to him, includes all of his never-reissued "hits" with, as a bonus, unobtainable songs such as "L'amour Maâk", "Bleu Délavé", or "Daag Dagui".

$14.50 IN STOCK

Mohamed Mazouni, born January 4, 1940 in Blida (The City of Roses), a city which had just turned twenty. His memory dragged around a lot of catchy refrains by Rabah Driassa and Abderrahmane Aziz, also natives of Blida, or by 'asri (modern music) masters Bentir or Lamari. He began his singing career in those years, chosing bedoui as a style. In June 1965, Algeria adopted a Soviet-style profile where everything was planned, even music. Mazouni, he followed his path, recording a few popular tunes, but he also was in the mood for traveling beyond the Mediterranean. During the 1950s and 1960s, Mohamed was dumbfounded by Oum Kalsoum's songs and scopitones. Fully immersed, he soaked up the songs of Dahmane El Harrachi, Slimane Azem, Akli Yahiaten, or Cheikh El Hasnaoui, but also those from the crazy years of twist and rock n' roll as embodied by Johnny Hallyday, Les Chaussettes Noires, or Les Chats Sauvages, not to mention Elvis Presley. Between 1970 and 1990, he had a series of hits. Mazouni, a dandy shattered by his century and always all spruced up who barely performed on stage, had greatly benefited from the impact of scopitones, the ancestors of music videos. His strength lay in Arabic lyrics all his compatriots could understand, and catchy melodies accompanied by violin, goblet drum, qanun, tar (a small tambourine with jingles), lute, and sometimes electric guitar on yé-yé compositions. Like a politician, Mazouni drew on all themes knowing that he would nail it each time. This earned him the nickname "Polaroid singer". Mohamed Mazouni crossed the 1960s and 1970s with his dark humor and unifying mix of local styles. Besides his trivial topics, he also denounced racism and the appalling condition of immigrant workers. However, his way of telling of high school girls, cars and pleasure places earned him the favors of France's young migrant zazous. At the end of the 1990s, the distribution of Michèle Collery and Anaïs Prosaïc's documentary on Arabic and Berber scopitones highlighted Mazouni's importance. Mazouni did not stop singing and even had a few local hits, always driven by a "wide targeting" ambition. This compilation, the first one dedicated to him, includes all of his never-reissued "hits" with, as a bonus, unobtainable songs such as "L'amour Maâk", "Bleu Délavé", or "Daag Dagui". CD version comes in digipack; Includes 24-page booklet.

$12.00 IN STOCK

In current times, how should mental disability be dealt with in an unrestrained, open-minded way? How can society take on this difference not as a barrier but as an opportunity? By directly confronting its creative force and abounding energy. And what better place for this than on a stage, where disability ceases to be a "negative" and becomes a "positive", finally revealing exceptionally strong human beings, without any blinders or artifices. From experimental group Les Harry's, to hip-hop collective Choolers Division, to the multifaceted projects of Atelier Méditerranée (now Brut Pop), many are the initiatives that have explored this channel in recent years. The Wild Classical Music Ensemble is: Linh Pahm, Johan Geenens, Wim Decoene, and Sebastien Faidherbe, four mentally disabled persons, led by the Belgian musician and violin-maker Damien Magnette. The group's first album, released in confidentiality on Sub Rosa (SR 274CD, 2009), had gone under the radar and no one seemed to know how to approach it. Yet, no less than six labels (including Born Bad Records) grappled to put out Tapping Is Clapping in 2015 (BORNBAD 071LP), a new LP full of fire and fury, a record of an "other" category. And if in 2019 you still haven't dared to let yourself be hammered by the Wild Classical Musical Ensemble's steamroller, rest assured: the time to catch-up his here with Tout Va Bien Se Passer (Everything Will Be Alright), the ensemble's third record together and from far its most accessible yet. But careful, this isn't a sort of lull, far from it -- as evidenced by the exceptional "Bande De", a furious symphony of curses on which Fabrice, the singer of Frustration, stirs up an already stifling atmosphere. It's rather a convergence, a rebalancing of flows, and more accessible material. Making your trip to this parallel dimension more colorful and hallucinated. Orchestrated by Magnette's original instruments (percussion bass, melodica from outer space, devious microphones, effect pedals transformed into a Theremin), specifically designed for each member of the group. A trip full of dizzying earthquakes and triumphant storms, populated by jelly-like Talking Heads ("Trainstation") and damaged Devos ("Autofile"), where you will dance to lunar punk ("Carapace"), and screaming robot-rock ("Ik Ben Blij"). CD version comes as a digipack.

$17.50 IN STOCK

LP version. Includes six-page booklet in French and English. English title: Chevance (etc.): Another Music for Children 1975-1984. France at the crossroads of the '70s: the Chevance collection revolutionizes music for children. Mixing forward-thinking folk and avant-garde jazz, driven by a strong literary spirit, its exceptional catalog was created under the direction of producer Philippe Gavardin, in the tradition of the Saravah label or iconoclastic publisher Harlin Quist. It brought together a band of classically inspired free musicians, propelling its singers into orbit by exploiting all the fantastical potential of texts by Jean Tardieu, Robert Desnos, Jacqueline Held, and many others. More strictly instrumental, its younger sibling, the Sonoriage collection completed the company, dedicating itself to the acousmatic exploration of children's familiar environments. The small collection named Chevance was founded by Philippe Gavardin in the course of the 1970s. Gavardin, notably with free jazz drummer Jean-Louis Méchali, forged the identity of this series of recordings for the younger generations: musically Janus-faced, definitely literary, impregnated with a surrealism that echoed the decade's psychedelic and libertarian experiments. Each record took a clear direction: modern fables, bestiaries, musical tales, cookbooks; words were the backbone of every release. In the chanson category, Anne et Gilles alternated with the Swiss actress Cristine Combe who had recently settled in Paris and wanted to sing Kurt Weill; as for the folk projects, Imbert and Moreau, were more in the hippie vein, took turns with the canonical pioneer Steve Waring. The musicians included many jazzmen from the adventurous French scene, including Cohelmec Ensemble, The Marvelous Band, and various mavericks like Teddy Lasry or Jacques Cassard. Initially distributed by the label Le Chant du Monde, Chevance was definitely included in the catalog of this venerable parent company when Gavardin started directing it. Mixing songwriting and avant-garde jazz, Chevance seems to be, first of all, Saravah's younger sibling. Cohelmec Ensemble bridged the two worlds, the teams got to know one another and often worked in the same studios. As for the literary dimension, it is right in the lineage of the American iconoclastic publisher Harlin Quist, whose activity in France left its mark on the genre. The parallelism with Chevance goes even beyond questions of editorial, graphical, or typographical choices: the two worked with the same team of illustrators, which included Henri Galeron, Nicole Claveloux, and Patrick Couratin. While Chevance had strong literary roots, Le Chant du Monde developed, in the middle of the 1980s, another collection in a more abstract, rigorously instrumental line, far from textual concerns. Features Anne et Gilles, Steve Waring, Christine Combe, Jean-François Gaël, Le Groupe Organon, Alain Savouret, and Naomi Moudi.

$14.00 IN STOCK

English title: Chevance (etc.): Another Music for Children 1975-1984. France at the crossroads of the '70s: the Chevance collection revolutionizes music for children. Mixing forward-thinking folk and avant-garde jazz, driven by a strong literary spirit, its exceptional catalog was created under the direction of producer Philippe Gavardin, in the tradition of the Saravah label or iconoclastic publisher Harlin Quist. It brought together a band of classically inspired free musicians, propelling its singers into orbit by exploiting all the fantastical potential of texts by Jean Tardieu, Robert Desnos, Jacqueline Held, and many others. More strictly instrumental, its younger sibling, the Sonoriage collection completed the company, dedicating itself to the acousmatic exploration of children's familiar environments. The small collection named Chevance was founded by Philippe Gavardin in the course of the 1970s. Gavardin, notably with free jazz drummer Jean-Louis Méchali, forged the identity of this series of recordings for the younger generations: musically Janus-faced, definitely literary, impregnated with a surrealism that echoed the decade's psychedelic and libertarian experiments. Each record took a clear direction: modern fables, bestiaries, musical tales, cookbooks; words were the backbone of every release. In the chanson category, Anne et Gilles alternated with the Swiss actress Cristine Combe who had recently settled in Paris and wanted to sing Kurt Weill; as for the folk projects, Imbert and Moreau, were more in the hippie vein, took turns with the canonical pioneer Steve Waring. The musicians included many jazzmen from the adventurous French scene, including Cohelmec Ensemble, The Marvelous Band, and various mavericks like Teddy Lasry or Jacques Cassard. Initially distributed by the label Le Chant du Monde, Chevance was definitely included in the catalog of this venerable parent company when Gavardin started directing it. Mixing songwriting and avant-garde jazz, Chevance seems to be, first of all, Saravah's younger sibling. Cohelmec Ensemble bridged the two worlds, the teams got to know one another and often worked in the same studios. As for the literary dimension, it is right in the lineage of the American iconoclastic publisher Harlin Quist, whose activity in France left its mark on the genre. The parallelism with Chevance goes even beyond questions of editorial, graphical, or typographical choices: the two worked with the same team of illustrators, which included Henri Galeron, Nicole Claveloux, and Patrick Couratin. While Chevance had strong literary roots, Le Chant du Monde developed, in the middle of the 1980s, another collection in a more abstract, rigorously instrumental line, far from textual concerns. Features Anne et Gilles, Steve Waring, Christine Combe, Jean-François Gaël, Le Groupe Organon, Alain Savouret, and Naomi Moudi. CD version includes 24-page booklet in both French and English.

$16.50 IN STOCK

LP version; includes printer inner sleeve and download. Cannibale return to Born Bad Records with Not Easy To Cook, their second album. If Cannibale's members brought their breakfast back up when talking about Not Easy To Cook, their listeners would be surprised. These fortysomethings signed by Born Bad Records, the image of greaser-looking garage rockers would come to mind, but with bits of exotica stuck between the teeth, Nino Nardini and Roger Roger's Jungle Obsession (1971) on the turntable, and plastic-bottled tropical glam puked by some incarnation of Wayne's World's (1992) Mike Myers. Why mention all this? Because there's a world of difference between the beginning of Cannibale's success story and this, their second album. It wouldn't take much to feel as if Freddie Mercury showed up in a Renault 16 to play marimba for old oafish rock fans. And actually, that's about it: The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) meets Fela Kuti in rain boots. Between No Mercy For Love (BORNBAD 094CD/LP, 2017) and Not Easy To Cook, the group did not switch from psyche cumbia to coarse-grained autotune, but rather roamed roads like doped cyclists, playing more than 100 dates in less than a year, and a eulogistic press review; Johnny Hallyday himself did not get such media coverage! So what's Cannibale's secret? Being old and giving 19-year-old kids who just discovered marimba tutorials on YouTube a thrashing? Certainly, but it's a little more than a band of old fogeys. "The band learned it all on the road in less than two years," says Born Bad's Jean-Baptiste Guillot. Songwriting-wise, they've known how to do for a long time. The members, survivors of various projects, succeeded because nothing else than music mattered anymore. In that, the band's deviant trajectory is not so different from Vox Low's. But the most surprising thing about "Not Easy To Cook is the sultriness that emerges. It's hard to sum it up other than by comparing these ten songs with some pressure cooker in which bits of dancehall, London ska and Hawaiian dub would have cooked together. The small miracle achieved by this album, recorded by the band in its remote French village: sounding French, but Polynesian French. With Not Easy To Cook, frogs, birds, and sounds from the jungle can be heard in a living room. Those already traumatized by Arthur Lyman's vibraphone and Les Baxter's lounge music should feel at home.

$14.00 IN STOCK

Cannibale return to Born Bad Records with Not Easy To Cook, their second album. If Cannibale's members brought their breakfast back up when talking about Not Easy To Cook, their listeners would be surprised. These fortysomethings signed by Born Bad Records, the image of greaser-looking garage rockers would come to mind, but with bits of exotica stuck between the teeth, Nino Nardini and Roger Roger's Jungle Obsession (1971) on the turntable, and plastic-bottled tropical glam puked by some incarnation of Wayne's World's (1992) Mike Myers. Why mention all this? Because there's a world of difference between the beginning of Cannibale's success story and this, their second album. It wouldn't take much to feel as if Freddie Mercury showed up in a Renault 16 to play marimba for old oafish rock fans. And actually, that's about it: The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) meets Fela Kuti in rain boots. Between No Mercy For Love (BORNBAD 094CD/LP, 2017) and Not Easy To Cook, the group did not switch from psyche cumbia to coarse-grained autotune, but rather roamed roads like doped cyclists, playing more than 100 dates in less than a year, and a eulogistic press review; Johnny Hallyday himself did not get such media coverage! So what's Cannibale's secret? Being old and giving 19-year-old kids who just discovered marimba tutorials on YouTube a thrashing? Certainly, but it's a little more than a band of old fogeys. "The band learned it all on the road in less than two years," says Born Bad's Jean-Baptiste Guillot. Songwriting-wise, they've known how to do for a long time. The members, survivors of various projects, succeeded because nothing else than music mattered anymore. In that, the band's deviant trajectory is not so different from Vox Low's. But the most surprising thing about "Not Easy To Cook is the sultriness that emerges. It's hard to sum it up other than by comparing these ten songs with some pressure cooker in which bits of dancehall, London ska and Hawaiian dub would have cooked together. The small miracle achieved by this album, recorded by the band in its remote French village: sounding French, but Polynesian French. With Not Easy To Cook, frogs, birds, and sounds from the jungle can be heard in a living room. Those already traumatized by Arthur Lyman's vibraphone and Les Baxter's lounge music should feel at home.

$14.00 IN STOCK

Of all the Cyrils born in the city of Calvin (Geneva) at the dawn of the '80s, these two were bound to find each other. Two Cyrils like two dizygotic souls whose contingencies have brought their meeting forward. Cyril Cyril. A liberated hydra, born in this city of diplomats where Borges duplicated his rejuvenated ego in The Other (1972). A muezzin without borders, Cyril Yeterian came to the disheveled world through Mama Rosin, a three-piece that stirred the ghosts of the rogue bayou, the clammy Mardi Gras of some electric Louisiana. Soon, the world fell in love with their flair. The BBC celebrated them, Jon Spencer produced them, records proliferated. And then in 2017, the honeymoon period passed; Cyril was alone. Within the same space-time, Cyril Bondi hit the road: Diatribes, La Tène, Insub Meta Orchestra, the most adventurous projects of the Geneva scene all included this percussionist in search of unheard beats. He soon found an accomplice for musical prospecting, another Cyril in tune with his rebellious instinct. A guitarist and an accordionist, Cyril Y. took on the banjo, adding effect pedals to it to turn it into a puny bouzouki, an epic bağlama or a krar. Cyril B. cobbled some cannibal drum kit together, with massive jingle bells and tropical nut shells embedded in his marching bass drum. For Cyril Cyril, music is a way of the world, a joyful decentration offering new keys to comprehend chaos. The point here has nothing to do with some globalized country excursion nor some gluten-free exoticism. Apart from tracing back the family pathway of some Lebanese dialect, Yeterian chants rhapsodies in French, the merciless terms of which say it all about coming insurrections. Certaines Ruines is thus a wordy lampoon of hoaxers, of neo-post-everything killjoys. Cyril Cyril know the superior power of suggestion, of temperance, of happy sobriety. A single word, a single cry can say a lot, as long as it is soulful. The sound of a duo reduced to its simplest expression: rhythm, a riff, a voice can bear within itself an infinitely luxuriant musical organism. Cyril Cyril, so real, so rich. CD in digipak with six page booklet.

$14.00 IN STOCK

Born Bad Records present Antilles Mechant Bateau, a compilation of percussion-based music from Guadeloupe. More properly, the subject of this collection is musicians drumming on percussion as a way of asserting their creolized identity. Songs that tell, in veiled terms, a different reality from that what which mainlanders were fed. Special cases, with cries of joy and laments accompanied by cadences, as an invitation to trance, all immersed in the Caribbean melting pot of rhythm. A symbol of Guadeloupe's struggle for independence, the prominently featured ka drum became the soundtrack of a new generation, who sped up the tempo in the '70s and definitely transplanted it to town, while the plantation economy (the original soil of the ka drum) was in crisis. From then on, the old tambouyés (drummers) finally were celebrated as they should be: Anzala, Carnot, Serge Dolor, Ti Seles, Robert Loyson, Arthème Boisban, Esnard Boisdur, and especially Velo (born Marcel Lollia), who nevertheless died in misery, in the street, in 1984. As in the United States, blues and ka music fought the same battle against centuries of oppression, of negation, before finding the path to possible redemption. Between them, the same language, that of the Creole spirits, flooded the great ocean. This is what this selection is about, and its good, inborn sense of humor shouldn't hide the implicit commentaries. Here, jazz instills an emancipating energy from established formats, giving these songs a musicality that rhymes with spirituality. From infernal cadences borrowing from the Latin rhythms of neighboring islands, to beguines with percussion-spiced tempos, to more laid-back -- nonetheless dark -- ballads, this compilation takes the listener back to the early hours of a movement of rebirth synonymous with recognition, a rejuvenation in which all the music of the Black Atlantic diaspora naturally intertwine, like a wave of sounds, of sense and blood, reminding us that an original culture emerged from the holds of those 'wicked boats', the trace of which remains starkly persistent in 2018. Also features: Mahy, Guy Conquete, Joseph Lacides, Tino Saint Val, Gabby Siarras, Casimir Letang, Manuela Pioche, Gerard Valton, Beaujour Et Ses Diables Du Rythme, and Josiane Saint Louis. Digipak with 16 page booklet.

$17.50 IN STOCK

LP version; includes 4-page booklet and download. Born Bad Records present Antilles Mechant Bateau, a compilation of percussion-based music from Guadeloupe. More properly, the subject of this collection is musicians drumming on percussion as a way of asserting their creolized identity. Songs that tell, in veiled terms, a different reality from that what which mainlanders were fed. Special cases, with cries of joy and laments accompanied by cadences, as an invitation to trance, all immersed in the Caribbean melting pot of rhythm. A symbol of Guadeloupe's struggle for independence, the prominently featured ka drum became the soundtrack of a new generation, who sped up the tempo in the '70s and definitely transplanted it to town, while the plantation economy (the original soil of the ka drum) was in crisis. From then on, the old tambouyés (drummers) finally were celebrated as they should be: Anzala, Carnot, Serge Dolor, Ti Seles, Robert Loyson, Arthème Boisban, Esnard Boisdur, and especially Velo (born Marcel Lollia), who nevertheless died in misery, in the street, in 1984. As in the United States, blues and ka music fought the same battle against centuries of oppression, of negation, before finding the path to possible redemption. Between them, the same language, that of the Creole spirits, flooded the great ocean. This is what this selection is about, and its good, inborn sense of humor shouldn't hide the implicit commentaries. Here, jazz instills an emancipating energy from established formats, giving these songs a musicality that rhymes with spirituality. From infernal cadences borrowing from the Latin rhythms of neighboring islands, to beguines with percussion-spiced tempos, to more laid-back -- nonetheless dark -- ballads, this compilation takes the listener back to the early hours of a movement of rebirth synonymous with recognition, a rejuvenation in which all the music of the Black Atlantic diaspora naturally intertwine, like a wave of sounds, of sense and blood, reminding us that an original culture emerged from the holds of those 'wicked boats', the trace of which remains starkly persistent in 2018. Also features: Mahy, Guy Conquete, Joseph Lacides, Tino Saint Val, Gabby Siarras, Casimir Letang, Manuela Pioche, Gerard Valton, Beaujour Et Ses Diables Du Rythme, and Josiane Saint Louis.

$16.50 IN STOCK

LP version; includes printed inners and download. Of all the Cyrils born in the city of Calvin (Geneva) at the dawn of the '80s, these two were bound to find each other. Two Cyrils like two dizygotic souls whose contingencies have brought their meeting forward. Cyril Cyril. A liberated hydra, born in this city of diplomats where Borges duplicated his rejuvenated ego in The Other (1972). A muezzin without borders, Cyril Yeterian came to the disheveled world through Mama Rosin, a three-piece that stirred the ghosts of the rogue bayou, the clammy Mardi Gras of some electric Louisiana. Soon, the world fell in love with their flair. The BBC celebrated them, Jon Spencer produced them, records proliferated. And then in 2017, the honeymoon period passed; Cyril was alone. Within the same space-time, Cyril Bondi hit the road: Diatribes, La Tène, Insub Meta Orchestra, the most adventurous projects of the Geneva scene all included this percussionist in search of unheard beats. He soon found an accomplice for musical prospecting, another Cyril in tune with his rebellious instinct. A guitarist and an accordionist, Cyril Y. took on the banjo, adding effect pedals to it to turn it into a puny bouzouki, an epic bağlama or a krar. Cyril B. cobbled some cannibal drum kit together, with massive jingle bells and tropical nut shells embedded in his marching bass drum. For Cyril Cyril, music is a way of the world, a joyful decentration offering new keys to comprehend chaos. The point here has nothing to do with some globalized country excursion nor some gluten-free exoticism. Apart from tracing back the family pathway of some Lebanese dialect, Yeterian chants rhapsodies in French, the merciless terms of which say it all about coming insurrections. Certaines Ruines is thus a wordy lampoon of hoaxers, of neo-post-everything killjoys. Cyril Cyril know the superior power of suggestion, of temperance, of happy sobriety. A single word, a single cry can say a lot, as long as it is soulful. The sound of a duo reduced to its simplest expression: rhythm, a riff, a voice can bear within itself an infinitely luxuriant musical organism. Cyril Cyril, so real, so rich.

$14.50 IN STOCK

Born Bad Records present the second volume Chebran, a series focusing on French boogie. The French in the '80s were not faint-hearted: as some threw themselves heart and soul into music or business, others wouldn't mind going bottomless to get themselves noticed. While Bernard Tapie soon realized his own fortune was rather to be found in business, many music-loving dreamers already imagined themselves in the sun, in an enchanting world made of funky rhythms and synthesizers. While the French National Front was growing in the shadow of François Mitterrand, these guys mixed New York-style funk with electronic, Eastern, or African sounds. With their genre-crossing arrangements and often chanted lyrics, they brought honor to the "SOS Racisme" generation, unconsciously outlining the nascent French contemporary urban culture. The French, while admiring Grace Jones' "savage beauty" in Jean-Paul Goude's advertisements, were enjoying their freshly-gained fifth week of paid vacation, tanning on the beaches of Maghreb. Following The Clash's example, punks and rockers converted to reggae, and the new independent radios opened up their programming to "world music". At the other end of the pyramid, the successive waves of immigration enriched France in a much better way. With the rise of "Youth and Culture Centers", the practice of musical instruments became affordable for those of humble background, allowing for new bands to appear. Caught between the spirit of Gallic bawdiness and their own community hopes, the musicians from this singular scene probably didn't succeed in life the way Bernard Tapie meant it. But their explorations left no room for doubt: by facilitating the rise of a new hybrid culture about to give birth, among others, to French hip-hop, those little-known artists indeed were off on an adventure, quite simply. Since the '60s, numerous venues destined for the North-African community had appeared all over France. In those bars and nightclubs, Eastern 45s were broadcast as well as local productions combining Raï, Frenchy funk, or proto-hip-hop. Thanks to the cassette tape medium, new songs kept circulating between Paris, Lille, Strasbourg, Marseilles, and many other urban areas -- mainly among the working class. The artists appearing on these compilations progressively shaped a new style, blending sounds from their original cultures and from their adopted country. Features Phil Barney, JM Black, Ettika, Sammy Massamba, Shams Dinn, Alfio Scandurra, Philippe Chany, Nordine Staiffi, Brigitte Et Michot, Alec Mansion, Marie Jose Fa, Hamidou, Ganawa, Creole Star, Manu, Ethnie, and Joel Ferrati.

$23.00 IN STOCK

Double LP version. Includes insert. Born Bad Records present the second volume Chebran, a series focusing on French boogie. The French in the '80s were not faint-hearted: as some threw themselves heart and soul into music or business, others wouldn't mind going bottomless to get themselves noticed. While Bernard Tapie soon realized his own fortune was rather to be found in business, many music-loving dreamers already imagined themselves in the sun, in an enchanting world made of funky rhythms and synthesizers. While the French National Front was growing in the shadow of François Mitterrand, these guys mixed New York-style funk with electronic, Eastern, or African sounds. With their genre-crossing arrangements and often chanted lyrics, they brought honor to the "SOS Racisme" generation, unconsciously outlining the nascent French contemporary urban culture. The French, while admiring Grace Jones' "savage beauty" in Jean-Paul Goude's advertisements, were enjoying their freshly-gained fifth week of paid vacation, tanning on the beaches of Maghreb. Following The Clash's example, punks and rockers converted to reggae, and the new independent radios opened up their programming to "world music". At the other end of the pyramid, the successive waves of immigration enriched France in a much better way. With the rise of "Youth and Culture Centers", the practice of musical instruments became affordable for those of humble background, allowing for new bands to appear. Caught between the spirit of Gallic bawdiness and their own community hopes, the musicians from this singular scene probably didn't succeed in life the way Bernard Tapie meant it. But their explorations left no room for doubt: by facilitating the rise of a new hybrid culture about to give birth, among others, to French hip-hop, those little-known artists indeed were off on an adventure, quite simply. Since the '60s, numerous venues destined for the North-African community had appeared all over France. In those bars and nightclubs, Eastern 45s were broadcast as well as local productions combining Raï, Frenchy funk, or proto-hip-hop. Thanks to the cassette tape medium, new songs kept circulating between Paris, Lille, Strasbourg, Marseilles, and many other urban areas -- mainly among the working class. The artists appearing on these compilations progressively shaped a new style, blending sounds from their original cultures and from their adopted country. Features Phil Barney, JM Black, Ettika, Sammy Massamba, Shams Dinn, Alfio Scandurra, Philippe Chany, Nordine Staiffi, Brigitte Et Michot, Alec Mansion, Marie Jose Fa, Hamidou, Ganawa, Creole Star, Manu, Ethnie, and Joel Ferrati.

$17.50 IN STOCK

LP version. Printed undersleeve. A few years before Upper Volta changed its name to Burkina Faso, thanks to Thomas Sankara's dream of a new society, Voltaic music emerged as some kind of true cultural revolution in the wake of the country's independence in 1960. Popular music that sprung up from Burkina Faso owed much to the music from neighboring countries and to the longing for "cultural authenticity" conveyed through Guinean music. The first two decades of independence saw the upcoming of such orchestras and artists, such as Pierre Sandwidi. Nicknamed "the troubadour from the bush", Pierre Sandwidi stands as one of the finest Voltaic artists from the 1970s. He belonged to an unsung elite of Francophone artists such as Francis Bebey, G.G. Vickey, André-Marie Tala, or Mamo Lagbema. His entire released output consists of less than ten 7"s, two LPs, and a bunch of cassettes. Along with his friends Jean-Bernard Samboué, Abdoulaye Cissé, Oger Kaboré, Joseph Salambéré, or Richard Seydou Traoré, he was part of the "vedettes en herbe" movement. Their songs were played on the national radio before being released as a single, recorded live in the studio. In 1970, Pierre Sandwidi traveled across the country, working for the state. He met Bobo-Dioulasso cultural entrepreneur and Volta Jazz boss Idrissa Koné, who offered him to record a few songs for his own imprint, Disques Paysans Noirs. Sandwidi delivered "Lucie", a romantic song in the classic mandingo vein. In 1975, Pierre Sandwidi recorded two more singles at the Maison du Peuple. Using an Akai recorder as a soundboard, he was backed by Super Volta's mighty guitar player Désiré Traoré. In 1976, he recorded three more 45s with L'Harmonie Voltaïque as a backing band. In 1979, while in Abidjan, Pierre Sandwidi recorded his first full length LP with the help of Voltaic Prince Edouard Ouedraogo. He launched his own "callao" dance, as a homage to this Sahelian bird that bounces instead of walking. Confronted with many temptations, Sandwidi sang about his will to stay true to his values, being first and foremost an African. A true callao song, "Mariétou" sounds like genuine French Sahelian pop. After Sankara's fall in 1987, Sandwidi distanced himself from politics, focusing on writing new songs and plays. Twenty years after he died, this compilation stands as a vibrant tribute to one of West Africa's most outstanding and adamant artists.

$14.00 IN STOCK

A few years before Upper Volta changed its name to Burkina Faso, thanks to Thomas Sankara's dream of a new society, Voltaic music emerged as some kind of true cultural revolution in the wake of the country's independence in 1960. Popular music that sprung up from Burkina Faso owed much to the music from neighboring countries and to the longing for "cultural authenticity" conveyed through Guinean music. The first two decades of independence saw the upcoming of such orchestras and artists, such as Pierre Sandwidi. Nicknamed "the troubadour from the bush", Pierre Sandwidi stands as one of the finest Voltaic artists from the 1970s. He belonged to an unsung elite of Francophone artists such as Francis Bebey, G.G. Vickey, André-Marie Tala, or Mamo Lagbema. His entire released output consists of less than ten 7"s, two LPs, and a bunch of cassettes. Along with his friends Jean-Bernard Samboué, Abdoulaye Cissé, Oger Kaboré, Joseph Salambéré, or Richard Seydou Traoré, he was part of the "vedettes en herbe" movement. Their songs were played on the national radio before being released as a single, recorded live in the studio. In 1970, Pierre Sandwidi traveled across the country, working for the state. He met Bobo-Dioulasso cultural entrepreneur and Volta Jazz boss Idrissa Koné, who offered him to record a few songs for his own imprint, Disques Paysans Noirs. Sandwidi delivered "Lucie", a romantic song in the classic mandingo vein. In 1975, Pierre Sandwidi recorded two more singles at the Maison du Peuple. Using an Akai recorder as a soundboard, he was backed by Super Volta's mighty guitar player Désiré Traoré. In 1976, he recorded three more 45s with L'Harmonie Voltaïque as a backing band. In 1979, while in Abidjan, Pierre Sandwidi recorded his first full length LP with the help of Voltaic Prince Edouard Ouedraogo. He launched his own "callao" dance, as a homage to this Sahelian bird that bounces instead of walking. Confronted with many temptations, Sandwidi sang about his will to stay true to his values, being first and foremost an African. A true callao song, "Mariétou" sounds like genuine French Sahelian pop. After Sankara's fall in 1987, Sandwidi distanced himself from politics, focusing on writing new songs and plays. Twenty years after he died, this compilation stands as a vibrant tribute to one of West Africa's most outstanding and adamant artists. CD digipack includes 16-page booklet.

$12.50 IN STOCK

You can count on the fingers of one hand the bands you've loved up until their fifth album like J.C. Satàn -- almost ten years after falling in love. There are dudes who have "seen them too much", heard them too much, and stopped expecting anything from them anymore. The Satàn crew did not deliver a fifth album just for the hell of it, just to justify their next tour: they got together to seek the rare fuel, the miraculous current able to galvanize our sleeping senses, the electroshock forcing us to revive the urgent impression of being alive. Centaur Desire has something of a new first-time record -- recorded all together (Arthur and Dorian used to handle all instruments themselves), enhanced by an incredibly powerful sonority (gear has piled up over the last years), and filled with a new groove (Romain finally plays his drum parts, and it's fantastic). Never where you'd expect it, Paula's voice adds to the pervading climate of freshness. A formula had to be found, that combines an undeniable talent for composition with devastating live fury. Here it is, and some of this on-stage gold stabilized to get cut on record and reproduced endlessly until reaching our speakers. If the modern-era Nicholas Flamel extracting this yellow metal out of peat was called Josh Homme or Black Rebel Something, the whole world would be murmuring the ecstasy of court's flatterers. At a time when the aforementioned bigwigs are composing a supposedly magnum umpteenth opus that smacks a lot of schlock, J.C. Satàn release something that dashes all of them with the cheerfulness of freaks and the Rabelaisian, farcical mirth of a horny centaur inviting us to Pan's great farandole, in the setting of a Manowar sleeve. "Centaur Desire!" declaims a sonorous voice on the title song, just like one would invoke some demon/leviathan to lay low an army of muddy killer whales by hitting them with burning dildos. Like a superlative life, an explosion of springtime sap accompanying the great universal libidinous rush that seizes us in the cosmic shag or in the mosh pit. No doubt the fact that this fifth album is their best one to date is quite uncommon and leads one to wonder.

$17.50 IN STOCK

LP version. Printed undersleeve. You can count on the fingers of one hand the bands you've loved up until their fifth album like J.C. Satàn -- almost ten years after falling in love. There are dudes who have "seen them too much", heard them too much, and stopped expecting anything from them anymore. The Satàn crew did not deliver a fifth album just for the hell of it, just to justify their next tour: they got together to seek the rare fuel, the miraculous current able to galvanize our sleeping senses, the electroshock forcing us to revive the urgent impression of being alive. Centaur Desire has something of a new first-time record -- recorded all together (Arthur and Dorian used to handle all instruments themselves), enhanced by an incredibly powerful sonority (gear has piled up over the last years), and filled with a new groove (Romain finally plays his drum parts, and it's fantastic). Never where you'd expect it, Paula's voice adds to the pervading climate of freshness. A formula had to be found, that combines an undeniable talent for composition with devastating live fury. Here it is, and some of this on-stage gold stabilized to get cut on record and reproduced endlessly until reaching our speakers. If the modern-era Nicholas Flamel extracting this yellow metal out of peat was called Josh Homme or Black Rebel Something, the whole world would be murmuring the ecstasy of court's flatterers. At a time when the aforementioned bigwigs are composing a supposedly magnum umpteenth opus that smacks a lot of schlock, J.C. Satàn release something that dashes all of them with the cheerfulness of freaks and the Rabelaisian, farcical mirth of a horny centaur inviting us to Pan's great farandole, in the setting of a Manowar sleeve. "Centaur Desire!" declaims a sonorous voice on the title song, just like one would invoke some demon/leviathan to lay low an army of muddy killer whales by hitting them with burning dildos. Like a superlative life, an explosion of springtime sap accompanying the great universal libidinous rush that seizes us in the cosmic shag or in the mosh pit. No doubt the fact that this fifth album is their best one to date is quite uncommon and leads one to wonder.