Castle 2024
Archives 1973-1974
Salvaged from jaws of obscurity, concert escapades and studio adventures of Gallic jazz-rock legionnaires come to light.
In the late ’70s, when this ensemble delivered their two albums – recently reissued as twin volumes of "Mets tes lunettes et écoute comme ça sent bon!" – there were mere vestiges left of the wildness the Llabador brothers used to demonstrate earlier in the decade. However, before the collective’s fusion acquired commercial sheen, they sounded much more progressive, if not more impressive, in terms of unbridled rocking, and never more so than on stage where going off on a tangent seemed de rigueur, although messing around in a controlled environment had its merits too. That’s what the recordings “Archives 1973-1974” is comprised of focus on – with a couple of studio epics, ambitious yet somewhat tentative, prefaced by a gargantuan live piece which pulls out all the stops.
Appropriately titled “Glimpse” and unfolding over half an hour, this number, that indeed provides a different outlook of the group’s artistic methods, is deliciously rough, and not only with regard to sonic quality but also from the performative point of view, as the quintet take the initially serene tune – featuring, unlike their then-future purely instrumental platters, quite a few rivetingly interwoven vocal lines – to the verge of improvisational delirium. Once folksy passages, fluttering on the wings of Dominique Frasson-Cochet’s flute, which will make room for sax further on, and bobbing on André Simantirakis’ bubbly bass, get high on the Llabador siblings electric figures, painted by Jean Pierre’s guitar and Jean-Claude’ keyboards, and explore jazz-rock planes of existence, straight routes turn obsolete and aural delights become plentiful.
Throwing any reserve to the wind, the players indulge in pseudo-medieval grandeur and false unpredictability of their melodic, dynamically detailed assault in front of the Montpelier audience, yet the band felt as experimental without the presence of strangers, as the delicately cosmic “Astronaut / Juggernaut” suggests, betraying their Frippian influences that don’t get in the way of this composition’s funk-spiced European aroma. Still, there’s a whiff of Eastern extravaganza in the two parts of “Suite” which follow it, rather insistently so, to add a fresh layer of surprise and English lyrics to the ensemble’s legacy. A fabulous find, the archival tapes on offer are invaluable slice of Gallic music history.
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