JUNIORE

This band continues to be a big Resident fave: this album has thoroughly wooed us with its starry neo-sixties pop psychedelique.

 

Four years on from 'Un Deux Trois', Juniore return through the looking glass. Juniore's third album was made in the world that came after the world that was before. Uncertain and unsettled, this new world, and strangely similar to the previous one - Juniore with their serious humour was already singing about "the end of the end of the world" in La Fin du Monde. And 10 years later, a new album was being made in the secret cave that is Samy Osta's studio, somewhere hidden in the catacombs of Paris.

This album tells the inevitably feminine tales of ambivalence, maternity, raptures and mad amour. It tells seriously silly stories of the sea and topless ladies, the horizon, the love of bowling and silence. With the same relentless impulse, Juniore has put together for this third album, a bunch of melodies with sweet and sour voices, rhythmed by tireless drums and explosive percussions, mad riffs mixed with irresistible organ solos and elastic guitars. You may not know it (or perhaps you do), but you've often listened to Juniore.

Their neo-sixties melodies have subtly filled our landscape for the last decade. Anonymous? Not exactly. Rather they've discretely travelled through the airwaves of our radios, the soundtracks of our TV shows, films, commercials, the hallways of our airports and supermarkets, the trendy playlists of our nerdy friends, or recommended by some of the trend-setters we follow for our road-trips, our soirées with old friends.

A band that's always fidgeting about, remarkably discrete, as are its members. Anna Jean writes, sings and plays guitars/keyboards, Swanny Elzingre is on the drums and vocals, and Samy Osta, who has an unconditional love for swimming against the current, he plays pretty much everything else, just as he produces all of Juniore's records. A band of antisocial and reserved individuals, you might say. All agree to live by the old French proverb that gently cradled the carefree youth of the 90's, pour vivre heureux, vivons cachés - "to live a happy life, stay hidden".