autoportrait “no french below” Storm alert on the mountain tops of the Great East, where the horses gallop in the small hexagonal steppes. The forecast is Fender Rhodes rains (Alexandre Weppe), double-bass squalls (Julien Moneret), tenor saxophone lightnings (Nicolas Gegout), orchestrated by the infernal thunder of the drums of the composer Adrien Legay. From the fusion of these four elements unleashed by a frenzied passion is born a tornado of blue notes reminiscent of good memories of the electric and ecstatic atmosphere of cottony jazz clubs.
Locked in a gilded prison, a castle with doors too small to leave, the giant Billy watches with melancholy this strange jazz phenomenon twirling powerfully and delicately in his direction, slowly but surely. After hearing this, he has to change side; here is now propelled in new frenzied and spooky dimensions where the spirits of Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Kenny Wheeler and others are having fun in a kaleidoscope of blue camaieu
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