Eric Chenaux has been ploughing his unique solo path for twenty years or more, but apart from the odd collaboration has generally gone it alone; guitar, pedals and that voice hovering above us, gazing serenely. Here on the latest album we are introduced for the first time to his trio, long-time friend Ryan Driver on Wurlitzer and vocalist and percussionist Philippe Melanson.
The guitar is extraordinary; sounding like a stylophone in one place, blowing raspberries in another, the whammy bar seemingly having a life of its own so the instrumental passages, when his voice drops out, continue the voyage out there. The choice of Wurlitzer as accompaniment is a fine one, because it also has an ethereal, wavering tone and really suits the guitar, in some places lending a counterpoint both to guitar and voice. The slow pace suits everybody here, as if we are drifting in a small boat, hands trailing through the water, oblivious to direction as the gentle current propels us, the percussion maintaining movement even when the vocal melody is caught in the rushes or gazing at the sky.
Having watched Eric’s hands fluttering up and down the fretboard, both feet pedalling away, it is great to hear these pieces from a slightly different perspective. The lovely organ chords are a bit more prolific as the album progresses and tend to follow the vocal unlike the guitar, which veers off at tangents given any opportunity, the solos spraying and flapping notes in all directions. Dropping electronic marbles onto the strings, a strange conversation takes place between guitar and voice, as if one is trying really hard to understand the other while the wise percussion intercedes.
-Mr Olivetti-
