Tourist. Add a question mark: tourist, me? This is the question asked by Renaud Gratton, who spent several lifetimes wandering around himself, a companion without borders to almost everyone, unrolling a confusing roadmap which passes through a Patrick Watson as much as by an Évelyne Brochu, from Bleu Jeans Bleu to Trois Accords, here a Klô, there a Brach… We have known him most often with a trombone in hand, but today, Renaud Gratton has a first album on his own label, where he sings and plays — especially on keyboards. It’s not nothing: daring to place yourself, to install words and music in the middle of a universe so long observed from a distance changes the perspective. The identity of the artist is finally defined, between psych folk and what he calls “1970s yacht rock.” Applied magical mycology, assumed character of “ Dad Bod”, Gratton remains difficult to pin down, but it is he who fascinates. We are now his tourists.
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