[engl] “Qui c’est celui-là?” Many French asked themselves this question (“Who’s that guy?”) when the song bearing this title began to smash the hit parade in 1975. Some others already had parts of the answer: it’s the guy who sang “Amour amitié”! The guy who sang “La femme du sergent”! The guy who sang “Armand” in “Le Petit Conservatoire de Mireille”! To all those French, Vassiliu had always been reduced. Few were the real fans, who had explored all angles and taken the measure of the man. Vassiliu was – awful word – a poet. Even worse, he was an wandering entertainer. He wandered the world, bringing back words, sounds, instruments and feelings. Maybe his rhymes weren’t that rich, the instrumentation not too lush, the production quite laid-back and the timbre rather little demanding, but you could be sure the song would be pampered. Had anyone else taken care of it, it would have been worse. To make a good Vassiliu song, you had to be Vassiliu. The problem is, all this was nothing but a succession of misunderstandings. Because he continuously tried to remodel his career, from a chansonnier to a cunning singer, from tender to comical, to a beatnik poet, to an ethno-artist, to a venue manager, to a showman, to a barfly. 1961. Pierre Vassiliu, a horserider and a war photographer, embarks with his brother Michel (lyricist) in the music business. Their department: comedy. Puns, a funny voice, honk-honk and oompahs. Lucky break, it works. A first misunderstanding gets him labeled as an agitator: his song about the military is censored on the radio, and only played past midnight. That’s all it takes to create a buzz. Georges Brassens champions him and writes a few laudatory lines on his first 45 – Vassiliu is launched. But enough with the smutty rhymes designed to make lowbrows laugh. The sassy man sets to putting sweet songs on his singles, such as “Le Manège désenchanté” on the B-side to “Ivanohé” in 1965. He also participates in the French-Brazilian adventure of Les Masques, with an album that has become a cult item thirty years later. Eddie Barclay once addresses him: “Your thing is gentleness, not bawdy joking. Deal with me and you’ll be able to do whatever you want.” Within a few weeks, it’s in the bag: three 45s are released by Barclay, along with a first LP, “Amour amitié”, on which he appears sensitive and very forthcoming with stories about himself. First-person lyrics have pride of place on most of the record. He fictionalizes his own life in “On imagine le soleil” with Catherine Philippe-Gérard in the singing role of his wife Marie, in which he weaves the thread of his couple’s memories, or in “Une fille et trois garçons”, a fantasy about a hippie threesome in their living room. Marie Vassiliu recalls: “At the time we had found an old crumbling farm in Gouverne which required a lot of renovation work. He had more peace and quiet to write better things, poems. There he started partying – a lot – and he took care of the Bilboquet (a café-concert). After that we lost a friend who died in a plane crash. Rough times. We settled in Apt, in a house where we made a swimming pool, constantly full of people: Barclay, Folon, Maria Schneider and her girlfriend… One day, Boby Lapointe dropped by to say hi, we asked him ‘How are you?’, he answered ‘Well, you know, I have cancer, I’m gonna die.’” Pierre befriends a band of musicians (Bloch-Lainé, Engel…), who are to appear on the records to come. He develops his taste for performing thanks to improvisation, and ends up on the other side, opening spots, venues, bars, restaurants – until the end of his life. This LP has little success, just like the following singles, including “Marie en Provence”; Marie, outraged by this one’s lyrics (in which she appears like a complete sucker), packs her bags. So Pierre creates “Ne me laisse pas” (Don’t leave me) for the flip-side, and Marie comes back. No success either for the second album “Attends”, which includes “En réponse à votre lettre du 2.11.72”, in which he salutes his buddies. He loses Barclay’s trust and now only has the right to record singles, on a quest for a hit. Among them, “Je suis un pingouin” or “Il était tard ce samedi soir” and its now-mythical B-side “En vadrouille à Montpellier”. Three more 45s and finally comes THE supreme misunderstanding: “Qui c’est celui-là”. As he sings it in his autobiographic song “Encore un jour qui passe”: “I made this record above all for its other side”. Namely “Film”, a disturbing boogie in which Pierre relates, in spoken words, a visit to the Bois de Boulogne with whores, trannies and cops, ending at daybreak with the radiant apparition of love, and cadenced by a mantra saying ”I’m still looking for a girl who would have me tonight for a quarter of an hour”. In addition to this gem, the band comes up with the idea of adapting, quick and dirty, a Brazilian song they brought back from a trip, with lyrics churned out somewhere with Marie’s help: “He initially wrote: ‘Who’s that girl’, and I prompted him towards ‘this guy’, which in French was closer to the original sonority.” Barclay sends the single to the radios. Surprise: two big radio stations give the same answer: the B-side is perfect, let’s go for it. Barclay gets the message: “Qui c’est celui-là” becomes the A-side, and Pierre Vassiliu, a funny guy. Millions will be sold, and the label improvises an album made up of the previous 45s. A dark period follows, during which he finds himself torn between the euphoria of success and its vanity, between the love he gets and the reasons given, between Paris and Provence, between his wife and other women. Marie, too often abandoned and sick of egocentricity, leaves for good; he flees to India, gets lost, reinvents himself and releases a series of three dark, light albums, singing about the decay of humanity, the ravage of alcohol, all-mighty banks, tourists trampling on misery in Africa, breaking up, loneliness, travels and moving houses. But also about his children, a dog, a bird, a pharaoh, and women. Thus his 1976 album features a tribute to his daughter, “Sophie”, and a sad poem about the Earth called “Alentour de lune”. A cracking LP, recorded as a duo at Georges Rodi’s – the top dog of synthesizer – barricaded and high on coke. These three records are commercial failures and put an end to his time at Barclay. In private, everything’s fine, his new wife rejuvenates him, even though he doesn’t lose touch with Marie: “Laura was already in the house when I left for real, he was finally free to live with her. But after every argument he would come back. With Eric [her second husband], they would talk for hours… but never about Eric’s problems.” This “Laura” period is marked by the singer’s decline of creativity, and by the irruption of Africa into his life. His son Clovis describes this end of a career: “He had written so much material that in the end he kinda went round and round in circles. He mostly earned his living through playing shows, like a real artist, not by selling records. He never sold that much. I have a childhood memory of him calling his impresario on the phone to get the sales figures of his latest record. He hung up looking sad. A thousand and five hundred copies. That was nothing. After the 1980s, that was it. And yet he played at least a hundred shows a year. One of his agents, whom he nicknamed “Miss Cleo”, told me: ‘Your father… I’ve never seen a guy try so hard to ruin his career.’” His 1981 album features “Est-ce qu’on peut voler”, based on a dialogue with then-child Clovis, who poses on the sleeve. “I can remember this conversation but I didn’t discover the song until listening to the album. Likewise, I remember when we took the photo, but he did not tell me this would be for the sleeve. Maybe it was his way of making me a gift. Plus the album’s title is ‘Le cadeau’ (The gift).’” During the 1990s, his music takes a South-American direction. He hardly releases anything until 2003. “He wanted to have fun. It had even become more important than songwriting. I have fewer and fewer memories of him playing music. Toward the end, he would rather screw around and get wasted. Yet he did ‘Pierres Précieuses’, with a run of only 5,000 copies, co-produced by fans through an association,” Clovis details. This is where “Dis-lui” appears, which we introduced to Marie, at her place in 2016. Paying close attention from start to finish, she commented emotionally: “He sounds all at sea, but of course he’s faking it. He uses anything, anytime, all that happens in his life, in his friends’ life, his children’s life, his wife’s, his women’s…. So it’s great, but… I didn’t expect that.” Pierre Vassiliu dies from Parkinson’s disease in 2015. Clovis: “He actually was a real artist. Even if I never wanted to admit it as a child. There’s something noble. This I didn’t discover before the age of 20. I didn’t see the creative side, the ‘artist’ side, well, the deep side.” A misunderstanding. Bien entendu.

[engl] "Voyage", to Pierre Vassiliu, was not only the title of an album of his, but also a philosophy of life. Travels were not for vacation or rest. They were synonyms of meetings, new music and sometimes, simply, life. These experiences around the world nourished his work, and his career allowed him to set foot on every continent. But his most beautiful travels took place in recording studios. "My parents showed up on a beach, with a camper. They landed there and we stayed for years." Sitting by a lake in Sète, Lena Vassiliu recounts how her parents Pierre and Laura chose an empty spot in the Casamance region to enjoy a few years loving each other under the sun. The legitimate child of this trip, she was conceived in Senegal. At the time, her mother said: "I want to give birth standing on my feet, holding a tree, in the sacred wood where only women can enter!" Today her mother adds: "Pierre was reluctant, so we ended up in a private hospital in Dakar." Laura Vassiliu still lives in the same apartment in Sète. Folon's original drawing for the artwork of the ‘Voyage’ LP is framed in the living room, making Pierre’s ghost more present. Laura remembers well the beautiful moments, and travels were a part of them. "Not only the moments were beautiful. On trips, he was more beautiful as well." Pierre felt good turning his back on France – which was probably already ugly –, turning his back on the fickle, mercantile record industry, as well as on an entourage that recognized his mustache but not his talent. A traveler out of obligation in his youth (Algeria and its war), he became a traveler by taste and acquired an interest in people, an essential for anyone willing to travel the Globe. He also traveled out of necessity. When smiles faded, a boat, a plane, and bye bye idiots. And he brought all those trips back into his songs. "Anytime we traveled anywhere, music attracted us. Pierre sensed the rhythm of the country we were in and he found a song." Laura Vassiliu

[engl] 2008. François Virot releases his first album - at least the first that is not a burnt CD-R. Presented with a yes-no question, both the public and the critics unanimously went for the first option. He was praised for the nervous urge and the staggering melodies of his lo-fi pop folk, and even got nicknamed a one-person Animal Collective. He found himself dragged out from the invisibility of Lyon’s squats and rushed hastily on stage. He was expected to give his opinion, but no one realised how unprepared he was. He had crafted his songs for himself, the hard way, without hindsight. For a hyperactive such has himself, versed into song-writing since he was a child, naivety was not a ploy, and DIY is not a fancy gadget. The honey of his first success had a bitter taste. « The first time they dimmed the lights at one of my concert, I didn’t understand what was going on. I came on stage, everyone cheered. I needed to change a string, so I said so, the crowd answered by applauding once again. I changed my string, I finished my beer, 10 minutes had passed, the lights were still on me. People found the scene delightful, they were laughing hysterically. For me, it was hell. There have been many moments such as this one where I felt at odds.” 2010. François Virot appeared in the credits of two of the most beautiful records of the year. The first one (Comfortable Problems from the trio the Clara Clara) put to shame every claimant to Deerhoof’s throne. He showcased his rowdy yet vacillating drumming skills, his acidly borderline chanting, wandering somewhere between happy hardcore and subtle power pop. The second one (Time & Death of Reveille duet) was as touching, addictive and imperfect as a collection of demos from The Evens. He would no longer walk into the lion’s den by himself. He would not sing his torments playing nervously on his acoustic guitar. No one was laughing anyway: applause sprung from shock, desire, respect. “I stopped making funny faces, talking to the crowd or make them sing along. I focused on the music and ignored everything around it. Still to this day, if no one shows up at a concert, I don’t care. What I want is to be satisfied with what I hear.” 2016. François Virot comes out of the woods again and plays the trick of the majestic double. After Clara Clara’s third album (Bugarach), a gem of shimmering pop, he’s back to sobriety for a second solo album that we had never ceased to wait eagerly for. A record that is as much a laid-back digest of his discography, an actualisation of his obsessions (colourful drums, catchy but devious melodies, referential tangle - Police vs. The Ex vs. Joe Dassin?), then a declaration of independence from the current indie pop laws. “Lately I couldn’t find any record without reverb effects, or a band that doesn’t use a chorus pedal or some recorded material live. It annoyed me. Music making should not be about composing the most beautiful thing there is. You need to catch a glimpse of what’s inside, hear an actual human being sing and play.” Marginal Spots is François Virot at his core, oblivious to the illusion of success, directly plugged on his heartbeats.

[engl] “There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count’s eyes gleamed, and he said: ‘Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!’” Dracula. Bram Stocker. 1897. “It’s just a big trash can. And the trash can has been full for so long, That there’s no more room for our own waste. That’s Paris.” Paris. Taxi Girl. 1984. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. This is the inscription seen on Dante’s Gates of Hell; but these are also the opening words of Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho – scrawled in red-blood lettering on the side of a building full of yuppies dressed in Armani. All the themes are there: pop occultism, the Passion of the Christ, and a synthetic view of the world, here’s what this Vox Low record is about. An outline of Vox Low’s history: some Parisian disco and punk fans who took their shot as Think Twice during that hysterical period of Parisian ‘French Touch’ in the early 2000s. This movement, then marketed as an unprecedented musical revolution in the country of baguettes and saucissons, turned out to be no more than a bling swindle worthy of Christophe Rocancourt : whatever you do, the bourgeoisie will always get by fine in the end. In spite of its sound credentials, Think Twice’s music did not find any resonance at the time. 2018, times have changed: who feels like having fun yet? Jacques Chirac is losing his marbles, bedridden in a mansion in the 6th arrondissement of Paris behind heavy velvet curtains; Daft Punk are hiding baldness under motorcycle helmets, and everybody now listens to music on their Bluetooth devices by way of monthly digital subscriptions. Enough with right-wing hedonist disco, let’s put our Donna Summer records away – not in the mood anymore – and dig out Éliphas Lévi’s big black book: Can, The Fall, or Peter Gabriel-era Genesis. This is a time for punk urgency, for depressed minimal Krautrock, for the great shamanic hypnosis. This bunch of greasers from the Porte de St Ouen area now perform as Vox Low, with Jean-Christophe Couderc (vocals and synth) and Benoît Raymond (legendary bass guitar, guitar, synth), later joined by Mathieu Autin (infernal drums and voodoo percussions) and Guillaume Léglise (savage SG guitar, synths as well) for setting up live performances. Indeed for Vox Low, stage performance is a founding act. It even has to do with pure ceremony, which quickly brought the band its cult aura. Seeing the combo on stage is an act of faith, a celebration of dark forces. Far from lazy live performances on Ableton, Vox Low is like an acid-house version of the Jesus & Mary Chain on stage. After having been the heartthrobs of Andrew Weatherall (whom they’ve remixed), after being remixed by the black angel Ivan Smagghe, after releasing maxi-singles on Jennifer Cardini’s techno label and on the brilliant Evrlst, Vox Low is now turning up on an insolently rock’n’roll label. Which is just logical, being one of the few bands able to stylishly surf between 60s rockabilly influences and cold, minimal techno from around Cologne or Berlin’s Zoologischer Garten Station. Vox Low stands straight under a freezing acid rain, facing adversity, and from the outset of this first LP the message is clear; time for an OK Corral showdown with the opening title “Now, We’re Ready to Spend”: “It costs so much, but now we’re ready to spend.” These children of the night gatecrash the court of the Crimson King, climb onto the tables and piss on the silverware. A superb black mass for a bunch of hippies high on mandrax and dressed in rags and sheepskins. Vox Low manages to set a ‘Sauerkraut’ Morricone-Rock atmosphere of its own, hypnotic and druggy. Krautrock – never boring, always exciting – with an inimitable 60s bass sound, a trippy discarnate voice combined with some Moe Tucker-style drumming. Rock’n’roll attitude in the body of exhausted 90s ravers. Vox Low removed the bland and indecent house from acid-house, only to keep the dark acid side, like the Holy Chalice of Zaragoza. Later in the album comes the song You Are a Slave: “You are a slave/but you don’t remember” – a punk, nihilist topic for a straightforward cold-as-a-razor-blade title. There are hits as well, such as Something Is Wrong, their anthem for a jilted generation coming down from MDMA, for those who hate dancing, in the back. A song like Some Word of Faith places the record under the seal of the Gospels, the Holy Scriptures, and Depeche Mode’s “Songs Of Faith and Devotion” album. Half muggy industrial, half leather rockabilly: like Frankie Goes to Hollywood covering Led Zeppelin – nothing less. Because, more than the filtered-disco years, the matter here is eternal oh-so-exciting new wave, from which TRUTH emerges when the spotlights from Top Of the Pops go out and you find yourself alone in front of the mirror of your sordid dressing room: in front of you, make-up, New Romantics, cocaine. Fade to Grey. In Rides Alone, Vox Low conjures up the suicided body of INXS’ Michael Hutchence, found dead in room 424 of Sidney’s Ritz-Carlton – naked, lying on the carpet among empty champagne bottles, a black studded leather belt around his neck. With Trapped in the Moon and It’s Rejuvenation, the Parisians deliver a certain idea of modernity: a cardboard western feel à la Morricone, as goth as the Sisters of Mercy, and VHS retro-futurism. Vox Low delivers the record nobody expected anymore, one that captures the spirit of the world in motion, for the attention of a crowd of social rejects who have one knee in the gutter but refuse to surrender to the prevailing cynicism. A dark, poisonous, nihilist and erudite piece of work for those who worship Primal Scream’s “Screamadelica” and Gary Numan, who stand in line at the Berghaim with their pockets empty but their heads full of ideals.

[engl] PILOOSKI Cédric Marszewski aka Pilooski started as a sound designer for Radio France. Later, he joined the journalists Guillaume Sorge & Clovis Goux of the D*I*R*T*Y collective. Together, they released the compilations Dirty edits and Dirty space Disco for the Tigersushi label and “Beggin”, a remix that has been used in many commercials around the world. Cédric produces Tristesse Contemporaine, Hypnolove, Perez, Discodeine, he has worked with Jarvis Cocker (Pulp), Baxter Dury, Matias Aguayo and Kevin Parker (Tame Impala). He has published numerous remixes under the name Pilooski for Bryan Ferry, LCD Soundsystem, Tame Impala, Jarvis Cocker, Nina Simone, Alain Chamfort, Mark E. Smith Von Sudenfed, also Metronomy, Yelle or Joakim, Who Made Who (with Discodeine). Cédric is Musical Artistic Director for brands such as Hermès , Christophe Lemaire, Lanvin, Bonpoint. He collaborates with advertising agencies: Saatchi & Saatchi, Publicis, BETC, Young & Rubicam, Sid Lee for worldwide advertising campaigns (Lipton, Mastercard, Clarins, Adidas, Orange, Hermès parfum, Lacoste, Balenciaga). He composed the music for Joyce A’s feature film. Nawashati’s feature film “Blind Sun”; collaborated with Les Films du trésor (“Populaire”, Régis Roinsard), Europa Corp (“Arthur et les minimoys”, Luc Besson). He is currently working on an art installation with Jarvis Cocker & Sophie Calle. A sensory tale in which music, a story, images and olfactory impressions are mixed together and disappear. Tolouse Low Trax: The ethics of Tolouse Low Trax alias Detlef Weinrich stands out in his multiple releases on labels such as Idle Press, Infiné, Karaoke Kalk, Kunstkopf, Neubau, Themes For Great Cities, Antinote or Cómeme. The German producer is no newcomer to the scene: still an active member of Kreidler and Toresch, he is the man behind the famous Düsseldorf Salon des Amateurs. His productions as Tolouse Low Trax explore Afro-baroque elegance through dark arpeggios leading to a slow and hypnotic liberation. Abschaum: Since 2010, the French trio of Abschaum, led by Chris Poincelot, has been navigating wilderness terrain. As if to better release the subtle tension of their music: a definitely krautrock heritage mixed, intrigued, blended with the influences of a raging Alan Vega. Because this heritage, its context, its aesthetics are not insignificant. Hypnotic, synthetic loops, saturated riffs and black voice, Abschaum, “vermin” in German, has cradled his ears to the sounds of Spacemen 3, Ash Ra Tempel and Can. Orestt : Boss of the label Evrlst.inc and of the famous record store of the same name in Nice, Orestt is also a rare and emeritus producer. A handful of EPs have been released under his name, notably on I’m A Cliché, Cosmo Vitelli’s label. We find him here for his first “remix” in the same vein as his productions: synthetic, dark and hypnotic.

[engl] In current times, how should mental disability be dealt with in an unrestrained, open-minded way? How can we 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, arousing the interest of an audience not always prepared for the intensity of such a world. One of the most memorable initiatives being at the Sur Les Rails mini-festival, created by Atelier Méditerranée in Paris in 2014. When a handful of lucky few got to discover the Wild Classical Music Ensemble: Linh Pahm, Johan Geenens, Wim Decoene and Sebastien Faidherbe, four mentally disabled persons, led by the Belgian musician and violin-maker Damien Magnette. That evening they delivered a brutal, wild and Promethean concert to a stunned audience. However one question remained unanswered: how to translate such a physical and visceral experience onto a record? And should it even be done? The group’s first album that was released in confidentiality on Sub Rosa, had gone under the radar and no one seemed to know how to approach it. Yet, no less than six labels (including Born Bad and Humpty Dumpty) grappled to put out Tapping Is Clapping in 2015, a new LP full of fire and fury, a record of an "other" category, dispersing any skepticism and echoing this quote from Celine's Journey to the End of the Night: "The great fatigue of existence is perhaps, in sum, only the enormous difficulty one assumes in order to remain reasonable for twenty years, forty years, even longer; in order not to be simply, profoundly, oneself that is to say filthy, atrocious, absurd." 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 Damien 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"). Hang on to the brush, we’re removing the ladder. Do not worry. Everything will be alright. Lelo Jimmy Batista

[engl] A dillusioned album for broken hearts, A heart full of sorrow is the work of Benjamin Daures, 24 years old, heir against his will of a tradition of loner, which from Ian Curtis, through Morissey, to Kurt Cobain, played everything they had on a record. their lives were saved (for a while, at least) by Rock'n Roll. Made in his surburbian bedroom while smoking joints, A heart full of sorrow is a first album, dreaming of other places (the Death Valley or the dry plain of Texas, you chose) as a way to escape the local boredom, the gloominess of Paris' outskirts. Draft ballads, thrown on a 8 track like break up letters to these stalling teenage years. Benjamin here plays all the instruments : A skullish drum machine, a shy guitare, and uncomfident vocals... While listening attentively, you understand that the fragileness is the force here, that's his style is forged in his akwardness that never sound like a pose. We're talking about sincerity, nakedness, a striking will of not hiding behind the primitive energy of Garage-Rock, to put back songwriting into angrily-played songs. Think here of missed Jay Reatard. We also know that Benjamin Daures is the leader of The CRETEENS, punk band who's had numerous 7" out on american labels, and that after two months of tour in the USA to support A heart full of sorrow (released there on Floridas dying) the past year, Yussuf Jerusalem almost imploded. But to learn more about Benjamin Daures, no need to go further, just listen to A heart full of sorrow and instantly become a follower of Yussuf Jerusalem