Catalina Matorral is the aberrant, delightful by-product of all of the above. A grand, serial poem where everything is interconnected — songs, texts, music and obsessions — in a vast, skillfully crafted cycle. It is a sound theater where androids dream of electric sheep, a spellbook where medieval illuminations sit next to printed circuit boards, where each sentence is an indecipherable secret, a Jivaro poem, an incantation to lift enchantments. The slightest sound seems to be animated by an autonomous thought. To say that the listener is immediately captivated by this multidimensional voice resembling a voodoo vocoder rolling on a conveyor belt made of artificial basses would be an understatement. Drums knock and crackle in an orchestra perched high on glitches, surrounded by an entirely new landscape composed of brass and convulsions, somewhere between the rural bocage of Normandie and the International Space Station. The result is both eventful and very soft: chimeric narration, heady verses, pop fragments, horizontal synths, distorted technologies. One would think they’re listening to an opera composed by Robert Ashley or Laurie Anderson, based on an improbable libretto written by anthropologist Jeanne Favret-Saada, and performed by holograms of Brigitte Fontaine and Areski — who unexpectedly regurgitate bits of blunt folk, binary jazz, baroque songs and ghostly madrigals. Micro-events, great enchantments.
This record was written and recorded by two people, tinkering feverishly for seven years. It was blessed with the furtive appearances of faithful friends: Gaspar Claus played the cello; Igor Estrabol the clarinet, trumpet and flugelhorn; Renaud Cousin the drums; Ernest Bergez played the violin and whimsically mixed the tracks like a bonesetter-scientist.
At the crossroads of worlds, eras and moods, Catalina Matorral invents a curiously rural science fiction that confounds poetry with white magic and puts French music in a permanent tension between the cosmos and manure.
It must be noted that it was the enthusiasm of Hisham Mayet, founder of the mythical Sublime Frequencies and a great collector of music without borders, that permitted the promising new label Via Parigi to release this album, a dizzying asteroid shaped like both a nursery rhyme and a black hole.
Words by Marion Cousin and Borja Flames.
Recorded from 2013 to 2020 between Torret, Minorca and Lucy-sur-Cure, Burgundy.
Marion Cousin and Borja Flames play synths, electric guitar and electronic and acoustic percussions.
With Ernest Bergez (violin and vocals on 8), Gaspar Claus (cellos on 1), Renaud Cousin (drums on 8), Igor Estrabol (trumpet and flugelhorn on 4, clarinet, trumpet and flute on 7).
Mix by Ernest Bergez.
Mastering by Kassian Troyer at Dubplates&Mastering.
Drawings and artwork by Borja Flames.