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Forever Pavot: La Pantoufle
€17.90
Forever Pavot
La Pantoufle
LP (Vinyl)
We used to know Émile Sornin as the son, the pupil, who saw fathers of his among the pioneers of baroque, progressive and psychedelic pop; who found big brothers by heart and aesthetics in Aquaserge; the (nearly) solitary creator of the “fine retro-maniac piece of work” (The Drone), Rhapsode, in 2014. After experiences in metal, garage, hip hop, he had spent a lot of time exploring, mixing together, digging, getting to the roots with the seriousness of a young man on a quest for territories to occupy. An insatiable jack-of-all-trades, he directed delirious videos for Dizzee Rascal or Disclosure when he wasn’t combing the countryside to discover new instruments (the movie Le Bon Coin Forever). Here is Émile Sornin the (new) father, the dubbed artist, the one-man-studio fully aware of his essential influences (French 70s movie soundtracks – Philippe Sarde, François De Roubaix, Francis Lai – rather than Italian giallo soundtracks, synth pioneers such as Wendy Carlos or Mort Garson, library music à la Camille Sauvage, Claude Vasori and Roger Roger); the captain of a dense, tight live band. The man called by producer Sebastian to the bedside of – scoop – Charlotte Gainsbourg’s next album. The man who just gave birth to La Pantoufle. From shore to shore, Émile Sornin incorporated into his music the humor and self-mockery he didn’t dare to embrace in the past.
Dorian Pimpernel: Allombon
€15.90
Dorian Pimpernel
Allombon
LP (Vinyl)
So what’s the purpose of pop music in 2014? It fills our head with silly things, It makes us better. Sometimes, it invents a little. Sometimes, it steals away from the past; sometimes it makes pristine copies from things we like. Sometimes, it guides us, sometimes it tortures us. Sometimes it makes us ecstatic. More than often, it disgusts us, and it demeans us, too. But one thing it does less than occasionally is making us dream, eyes open or eyes closed. Psychedelia is at a standstill, ecstasy is no longer effective on anyone, the terras incognitas of yore are squared from the Wild West to the Land of the Rising Sun and great songwriters are working for nobody as nobody is there to listen to their songs anymore. As for the great magicians of pop music, the children of George Martin, David Vorhaus, Syd Barrett or Don Van Vliet who used to command us in our dreams using potions, spell books and mirrors, they all went underground: if pop music's most beautiful race ever - the esoteric one - is still practiced by some, it is done so in secret laboratories and underground corridors that are buried deeper than those of garage rock, punk or black metal. A secret society of diligent practitioners of the cabalistic part of pop music for an eternity, Dorian Pimpernel only seems to be working with one goal in mind: restart the Machine that once made us dream and go into ecstasy.