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Die Franzosen Bryan's Magic Tears sind jetzt bester Shoegaze/Baggy/Madchester! Sommer der Liebe: den ersten haben sie nicht miterlebt, den zweiten haben sie studiert und den nächsten verplanen sie schon. Bryan's Magic Tears veröffentlichen ihr neues Album, Smoke and Mirrors, auf Born Bad. Auf den früheren Alben 4AM und Vacuum Sealed noch im Zentrum, rückt ihr Garagen-/Lärmvermächtnis ein wenig zur Seite, ohne ganz Abhanden zu kommen. Sie schwärmen von modischen Shoegaze-Oldies und geben gleichzeitig zu, dass es eine Vorliebe für All Saints haben. Der Name des neuen Albums ist treffend gewählt, denn es macht sich über Stadionmusik lustig und respektiert gleichzeitig deren Codes. Sieht aus und klingt, als hätte Shaun Ryder Liam Gallagher gegessen, schamlos Hits rausgehauen und sich dabei auf eine gut gebaute Soundwand gestützt. Die Platte ist stark von diesem typischen 90er-Shuffle-Beat geprägt, mit der die Band schon geflirtet hat...aber jetzt ist man ein Paar. Zwei Drittel der Tracks haben diesen Groove. Dazu ein Synth-Intro, dass wie ein Acid-Flashback von Underworlds ,Born Slippy" daherkommt. Das erspart den Franzosen eine Reise über den Ärmelkanal. BMT ist immer noch eine gitarrenlastige Band, aber mit einer ordentlichen und effeltvollen Trick- und Werkzeugkiste. Diese Platte, die sich von The Velvets zu Ride bewegt, bietet einen fetten Sound, der wie geschaffen ist, um die Arme auszubreiten, mit dem Kopf zu wippen und auf Festivals den Boden festzutanzen. Immer noch Musik, um Drogen zu nehmen, um Musik zu machen, um Drogen zu nehmen, um Musik zu hören.

Third album from one of the best French garage/shoegaze/dream-pop
bands around. ‘Vacuum Sealed’ has the potential to become one of theguitar classics of the early 20s.
Bryan’s Magic Tears are made up of musicians who also have - or had - a footin the bands Villejuif Underground, Pleasure Principle, Bisous de Saddam and Dame Blanche.
Like all great albums, it opens with a screaming introduction (“Greeting From The Space Boys”, a middle finger raised by the whole band from the stratosphere - or Lauriane Petit on bass and vocals, Raphael Berrichon and Medhi Briand on guitars, Paul Ramon on drums).
The band goes from one breathtaking track to another (“Excuses” sung by Lauriane like a Kim Deal composition, “Sad Toys” or the paroxysm of dancing melancholia, “Pictures Of You” or the best guitar riff ever played with a vibrato).
One could believe that Bryan’s Magic Tears is the gifted son of The Jesus & Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine and Primal Scream. In 1991 the album would have been recorded by a British band and released by Creation. Except that we are thirty years later and it’s made by a band with a Norman soul and published by Born Bad Records.

Jessica93, prodigal bastard of our glorious french squat scene, relocated on Born Bad : this is no picnic. Geoffroy Laporte, alone against all odds, alternates bass and guitar to build harsh loops with a drum machine spitting pre-Gulf War patterns. That’s where it gets tricky : every musical posse claims him. Grunge, sure, but Jessica doesn’t indulge in necrophilia. His circuit is punk, he doesn’t dress the part though. Cold wave, the atmosphere fits somehow, but the gear does not. The self-confident rock horde saw him playing with hair in his eyes… but he never joined the Party. Metal had something to say but sadly, nobody listened. Maybe it's time to give it a rest and let Jessica93 cook his great misery broth on her own, called « 666 tours de périph’ » (666 laps on the beltway). Witnessing Jessica93 live makes you dread that he'll get up the next morning, drive 200 miles and one nap later kick it again, when it takes us a good week to recover from the bad half of that same evening. Like so many other unknown soldiers during our very own world war of music, he patrols small venues relentlessly.



At the heart of this cultural pentacle painted by french weirdos Bryan's Magic Tears, and Carine Krinator, Jessica93 has built a sound validated by years of chosen vagrancy, birthing bands with joyously stupid monikers, in the humid jungle of small labels. Jessica93's debut album had a track celebrating Omar Little, HBO’s gay bandit from Baltimore. This story begins on the beltway, where Florence Rey, accidental copkiller turned to political icon of the 90’s. Geoffroy offers his brilliant analysis : " C’est la police qui nous tire d’ssus / C’est mon trou d’balle qui leur chie d’ssus « (Police shoots us down / my dripping asshole gets the job done).



A previous album was haunted by bedbugs, this one is essentially about love, a delicious scourge just as hard to eradicate. Two black diamonds peek out of the LP : ’’La colline du crack’’, heartbreak song about the ultimate temptation of violent delights, located on crackhead central in Paris. The brilliant chorus, ‘Take my hand and come with me to Crack Hill’ will put an end to the rumours, almost everything was really false. And Bébé Requin, alternative obituary that’ll make you shiver, where our nice couple states ‘’on kiffe la drogue dure et les ptits chiens’ (‘we love hard drugs and little dogs’). And that is the reason we face the wall of sound jostled by unnecessary shoulder thrusts: those nice fat chunks of charcoal poetry, hidden under light sarcasm.



The rest of the record demonstrates the know-how acquired in loop-by-loop construction of ruins that are pleasant to squat in together. There’s your classic doom delicatessen, with bits of heavy metal inside, crafted with the manic care typical of hard wankers. Arthur Satàn, who produced and mixed the album at home in Bordeaux, helped him get his head out of the reverb safe house. And Jessica93 took the opportunity to switch to the dark side of the language : french at last. Worth the wait ! Sing along : « nique sa mère / nique sa grosse mère » (translate that yourself).