This ninth career album by Navet Confit, the solo project of the Swiss army knife of the Quebec indie scene Jean-Philippe Fréchette, is precisely what our sick world needs today. Tender and fortunately still as ironic, Fréchette’s voice is in tune with the deleterious, post-pandemic and planetary pre-extinction atmosphere due to monkeypox. He plays all the instruments, deliberately out of tune; that good morning sounds as good testifies as much to the delicacy of his ear as to his talent as a producer – this disc sounds magnificently well, exudes the same feverish intimacy that characterizes the recordings of The Microphones (Phil Elvirum). Her rock song that’s a little grunge, a little folk, always offbeat, flows naturally and, when she doesn’t lose her balance while sliding on a puddle of distorted guitar, goes straight to the heart on small pearls such as The ballthe contemplative Sometimes and soothing it Tell me a story.
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