The tone is set, Mano Solo prioritizes on stage the tracks from the latest self-produced album, “In the Garden,” and those from the previous two albums. Only three tracks, including two during the encore, are from his first three albums, which are much darker and more despairing. The Palais des festivals could indulge in a concert high in talent.
Mano Solo no longer sells dreams, ready-made revolutions; he no longer lingers on hardships, the street, drugs. However, he speaks to us a lot about the Internet. “When I got into the Internet, it completely depressed me. For me, it should have been an additional tool, a collective action support. Instead, I saw lots of young people who think they are rebels, leftists, by downloading the artists they listen to for free. They don’t see that they prevent the main craftsman of what they listen to, the musician, the singer, from obtaining a decent remuneration. I am against this global license that will prevent equitable distribution of gains among all musicians. Plus, given the price of this license, there will be a huge loss of revenue, and the money that the majors don’t earn, they won’t be able to invest in small groups, like me in the past, or others now. People who download therefore favor a concentration of funds on big artists to the detriment of those who struggle. They are thus more capitalist than capitalists. I don’t see why a musician should struggle for ten years before breaking through. Any apprentice is paid during their training; a musician is not, in my view, someone who gives for free; I am doing a job, I am part of the system, I have to be paid in return for what I do. The musician becomes the last link in the chain to be remunerated when he should be at the center.”
That’s the context today. Regarding music, he tells us he mainly listens to jazz, in all its components (flamenco, salsa, etc.), and old punk rock from the 1970s and 1980s. Contemporary French chanson does not interest him at all; in fact, he despises it. Only Renaud comes out with honors, and Catherine Ringer, singer of Les Rita Mitsouko, “the best French singer who gets hassled, like me, because of her past as a porn actress.” Gainsbourg is a right-wing singer, “burning a bill like that on TV is completely demagogic; he’s a loner who never did anything for others,” and Miossec is “a sub-Gainsbourg.”
In the end, a much more realistic discourse on the musician’s personal commitment, for example, a discourse closer to today’s harsh reality that may disappoint nostalgics of the more radical and revolutionary era of the character. The punk spirit and no future, from the Frères Misères, or the delightful darkness of the initial tracks give way to an enthusiastic, albeit measured, hope. Two constants remain: the beauty of the music and, obviously, the voice.
Beyond that, a reduced setup on stage, far from the last tour’s: “I got tired of so many people on stage with brass, etc. Since we started the tour, I play with three musicians, Daniel, the guitarist from Mano Negra, a Cuban accordionist very well known in South America, and a keyboardist. We often make mistakes, but people don’t notice, and it’s more exciting.” Intimate ambiance, despite the relative size of the (full) room and tracks that oscillate between nostalgia and hope. A music that grabs you and only releases you an hour and a half later, astounded, and above all, a present, inimitable voice and a palpable emotion, completely immutable, remaining the same for fifteen years.
Mano Solo has evolved, is more serene, the horizon is brightening, that’s undeniable, but his presence, his way of singing with his gut and laying his guts on stage is always the same. Let those who love him like that follow him, others are asked to step down…
Sanseverino, no comment. We know him, crazy for Django. The French version of gypsy jazz with a group of twelve musicians including eight brass. An incredible energy, an outstanding technique and talent, an ultra-fast and crazy swing (in French, please). Sanseverino, mad about music, leaves no one indifferent; unique.
