Fourth album in eight years, it should be known. It should even read: Mat Vezio is more of a writer than a singer, his voice stands out less than his words. Question of nature: he was first behind the drums for each other: the path to the front of the stage was not marked out. To tell the truth, we had remained, concerning him, with the group Mille Monarques: necessary catch-up. And more than justified by this album, was it the starting point in reverse: in landscapes of sounds that are both natural and manipulated, where a Navet Confit, a Sheila Hannigan, a Guido Del Fabbro are his portraitist allies, the Mat Vezio’s verb seizes on the jugular: “It takes itself for God / it lets life die / It wanks its tail / It lets fruit rot” (who set the fire). His latent rage, his contained sadness support each other: “If / If I ever leave / Faster than expected / Take the anger in your arms” (albert). As long as he dares to push the note and advances in the mix, a place awaits him.
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