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Description

It’s the Mano Solo mystery: for fifteen years now, more or less, he has been making roughly the same record. His blazing voice swings with an almost metronomic regularity between rage and calm; his music is tinged with fiery tangos, lively waltzes and gypsy melodies; his lyrics wander through the setting of rather friendly cities, where the suburbs have dethroned Paris. And each time, he infuses his singing with so much intensity that he manages to carry us away. This eighth studio album, wrenching and wrenched, soaked in the warm sounds of Régis Gizavo’s accordion, still lands its emotional uppercuts. When he sings softly about other people’s children, or renewed love in the morning, he is simply disarming. Besides, one thing has changed in his words, and not the least: in 1993, he cried out, “life isn’t a piece of cake”; today, he sets the record straight: “I pity all those who believe that my life is not a gift.” - TELERAMA