He spent a long time making his way, somewhat hidden behind a band in which he was only Wilfried. Four albums with a French chanson leaning. And then he took action. Solo, after a life in a group, as if at some point in his life he had to reveal himself, to own what comes only from himself. Because time is running out... certainly. Hildebrandt is sailing offshore, he has moved away from the shores of French chanson and you can hear it. Because the words are no longer supported by the music but instead fit in like a second melody within the orchestral setting. Hildebrandt stamps the word there in a slightly melancholic poetry, but never disenchanted, with that timbre and prosody that, track after track, recall the poetic acrobatics of Dionysos, the gravity of Noir Désir (Gracias, Vos Gueules, A quoi tu France or L'essentiel à t'apprendre, a nod to Georges Brassens), the elegance of Lescop or the chiaroscuro of Bertrand Belin.
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