The Full Album

Bikini machine sign finally the album for which we waited. Outside control over boards, this from Rennes formation lost in the space time had signed some too careful disks which left on our hunger. Everything was nevertheless combined to make sparks: this veterans' quintet of under punk-rock ground (Skippies, Terminal Buzz Bomb), considering in its rows a keyboard player co-founder of the eminent label breakcore Peace Off, reinvents the twist, the rock garage, the blanace of the hymns surfings zn being astride samplers and stirs on beats drulm' not bass in 501 vintage.The idea is not new: Joe Meek to Bentley Rythme Ace, fuzz guitars and printed circuits were often compatible. But for this Complete Album, Bikini Machine saw things in big. Its songs made the world tour (New York, Brighton, Copenhagen) to be better scratched by some leading experts: Jon Spencer, uncle of America of Europe irritated (Powersolo, The Craftemn Club), their old friend Ian Caple (Tindersticks, Bashung, and producer of Daily Music Cookin ', in 2006) and Jesper Reginal (Senior Junior, Superheroes) put them legs without distorting Lp which keeps a beautiful coherence. At opening, represents the explosive Good Morning together with one Laetitia Sheriff in the electrified sensualism. Riffs twisted by Kinks, crossed by samples in spirals and by sound flashes of lighting ( Get Down) follows. Here, everything is only boiling, of this cavalier epic for vibraphones and ropes in John Barry ( Strange Day) until Boxful of Pranks, jubilant collision between solos cradingues and noisy jungle. Without forgetting any surprises:: the single Where go the idiots? Welcome Michael Furnon, intolerable with Mickey 3D and completed to the others (remember you of Little After Midnight, with Ginger Ale). Its neurasthénique song becomes marvelously as such I - me - foutiste way Jacques Dutronc - to whom Bikini Machine had honoured here is three years. Farther, Mister Syncope is a wink to the Vendean Katerine. Proof that these covered followers of Vespas of retro, comfortable in both languages and in all the styles, make fun of local quarrels of ruined bell towers, and deserve members of a big decomposed family combining Rubin Steiner, or HushPuppies. Bikini Machine is about to leave its staut of small compelling curiosity, to become a big group which counts. Finally.

Thibaut Allemand, Magic octobre 2009