Yves Lambert, charming singer, peddler of old-fashioned tunes like we still find in garage sales on 78 rpm records from the 1930s? Him, the irreducible propagator of the traditional heritage, as a hairy seducer? But if. In his way. Picture it under the well-chosen title of Romance paradise, wearing a smile both gentle and carnivorous, aviator helmet on, whirring low in his biplane and seizing forgotten beauties. How healthy they are, these refrains from a home before La Bolduc! Comics (Stupid song), tenderly rhymed (Knowing that we are loved), sometimes tragic in filigree (Is your plane going to heaven), everything is given in soft loops, carried by Grappelli-style violin. Or the accordion, of course. You certainly have to get used to a Lambert who extends the bill, but the clever man has planned a Ukrainian Waltz here, a Chinese polka there, to remind us that he was (and fundamentally remains) a guy from Bottine.
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