"Is it the fall of Icarus, whose vertiginous stridulation we hear from the very first notes of this album, to which Jean-Marc Foussat once again mixes his AKS synth and his voice? A sharp whistle has just pierced the atmosphere and is lost in the urban bustle where the police sirens can easily be distinguished. It is with this scene worthy of a Michael Mann or Christopher Nolan film that this trio recording opens, bringing together saxophonist Urs Leimgruber, who has already signed a magnificent duet with Jean-Marc - Face to Face, 2019 - and violinist Carlos Zingaro, who is also familiar with his universe since the trio completed by Mia Zabelka - Dans les tiroirs, EP of 2016 - and their duet concert at the Miso Music Portugal of 2021. Let's not fool ourselves, though! The illustrative aspect of this introduction is more of a wink than a declaration of intent, because once the possible murmurs of a crowd stunned by the extravagance of the event have passed, the three musicians will let themselves be carried away into abstract spaces, unmarked territories imbued with a rare expressiveness.

As in those series where the end is revealed to us before going back in time in a long flashback, the trio follows Icarus' flight until his announced fall, leaving the stops and the journey to the imagination. And it is a night swamp whose thick bubbles burst at the surface, a rustling foliage that living beings push aside in their path, a train that rushes under a tunnel and discovers at the exit a people swarming and whispering under the wind. For a long time, the saxophone seems diluted in the synthesizer's matter, while the violin, more distinct, accompanies the traveller and delimits with its arabesques the place and time of each stage. Until the tenor extracts itself from the mechanical magma and overhangs its tumult to support the violinist in his virtuoso quest on the borders of noise. The vibrations of a Jew's harp, swallowed and digested by the AKS synth, become a flock of wild birds, itself carried along by the waves of a luminous scenography. Lurking in the shadow of the din, Urs Leimgruber's soprano waits for his moment, a clearing of silence whose edge he can define with his assured features, before his tenor disrupts the course of the violin connected to the mains and underlined by deep bass, to finally melt into a cavalcade of electronic percussions.

The end of the album takes us closer to the sun, through wide-open layers that the tenor punctuates with his masterful strokes. The lyricism of these exchanges where nothing seemed forbidden will have led us, despite some dark accidents, to the clarity of a white light, superimposed, where a few feathers stolen from Icarus' wing barely flutter. This is a clear sign of Jean-Marc Foussat's optimism, who prefers, despite the imminent danger, to sacrifice the ineluctable unravelling of the mystery from the outset." - Joël Pagier