Christine, who became Chris in the album of the same name (2018), is now called Redcar — because, quite literally, he dreamed of red cars after the death of his mother, he recently confided to the Guardian. Even more complicated are the songs on this third album made of heartbreak and existential quest: we are far from the pop-electro-funk nuggets of Chris on this opaque record where the musician too often sings in parables of feelings that we guess are nevertheless urgent — this album would have been composed and recorded in two weeks, and you can hear it, the good ones flashes melodic (Looking for Love, Say nothing, the best of the album) dissolving into disconcerting aesthetic choices. Redcar seems to be referring here to this period (the end of the 1980s) when French variety tried to give itself an air of modernity by drawing inspiration from new wave (the first Maurane, Guesch Patti, etc.). Example: during the eight minutes of How longat the end of the album, Redcar wanders off in search of a groove sophisticated in the manner of Grace Jones, in vain.
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