seem destined to cross, divergent paths that eventually converge. If CHRISTOPHE MIOSSEC and YANN TIERSEN had never before trodden the same path, it's because both were too busy forging their own trails off the beaten track. Two very singular journeys, which finally led to a shared stage. It must be said that there are enough commonalities between these two extraordinary travelers: both from Finistère, both landlubbers and seafarers, from Brest, in short. A true tandem.
CHRISTOPHE MIOSSEC's seventh studio album is unlike any of its predecessors, or like all of them at once. Undeniably, it's Miossec, the real deal: those galloping rhymes with contained emotion, that raw lyricism with fierce romanticism, that voice at the edge of the throat, those bittersweet odes to the shivering swell, to the irregular undertow, like those melodies that meander and insinuate themselves. There's pitching, there's rolling, but as if cradled, enveloped by the sonic mists woven by Yann Tiersen, at once dense and ethereal, compact and precise, with quasi-symphonic reflections, pianos, strings, guitars and percussion united in the same undulating movement.
Casually, "FINISTÉRIENS", a weathered and sculpted Brest album crafted by four hands, half-Tiersen, half-Miossec (Tierssec or Miossen?), marks a new stage in the career of a wanderer not yet settled from the sea spray. An album that burns, that drinks, that kisses, that takes and that embraces.
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