Meandering je m’en foutisme, one might call this EP, yet ‘random’ is never the word. For eclectic as .021 may sound, combining bits of smartphone-recorded conversation with synths as sticky as molasses, Adigéry’s voice blends all the elements together in a chocolate and vanilla swirl of holistic beats.
Premeditation is an action that is alien to Adigéry’s music making: it’s all about playing around, hitting a nerve until some feel-good hormones start bubbling up and following that vein of pure, sparkly gold wherever it may lead. So, yes, this could be called experimental, but not as a reference to the genre. More like: if we put Mentos in a Coke bottle and shook it for 32 seconds, would it explode?
“I spent a lot of time listening to The Slits.” Adigéry says. “I like the freedom they allow themselves in making music. The singer acts directly upon impulses in her body, which she seems to convert into notes. It’s very animal-like.” In the studio, Adigéry tried her hand at every available instrument, beat-backed by Bolis Pupul, who previously released two EP’s on the DEEWEE label. “This EP really is a 50/50 effort. Of course, being holed up in DEEWEE territory, I started speaking their language, which tinted my tunes”, Adigéry adds.
Both in sound and in lyrics, this EP oozes curiosity and eager playfulness. Adigéry doesn’t do personae, she simply plucks lyrics out of her life. In 1,618, a song whose title refers to the golden ratio, she answers to folks repeatedly pointing out to her that not wearing a bra is surely a sign of promiscuity. “Why are you claiming it’s a statement / My tits ain’t aiming to be blatant.” Senegal Seduction pieces a conversation with a chatty parking gurad, secretly recorded from her pocket, together in a millefeuille of angelical voices.
No deeper meanings in Le Froid, though, much to the contrary. The title refers to Adigéry’s body temperature at the time of recording and clearly, dancing serves as the chosen remedy. Nonsensical syllables couldn’t care less about the words lyrics are supposed to be made of: it’s all about the feeling. And feeling there is: this syrupy sound is reminiscent of Nico’s sexiness and casts it in a poppy, disco-trippy light. Being a woman who wears her heart upon her sleeve, Celle, at last, addresses her father in very intimate wording. The overall sound is grand, like a movie score written by Ennio Morricone on a midi guitar.