Erik Truffaz | News | INFO - Erik Truffaz "Clap!"

1.   Les choses de la vie (Philippe Sarde) 6:46

2.   In Heaven feat. Bertrand Belin (David Lynch/Peter Ivers) 3:18

3.   L’alpagueur (Michel Colombier) 4:02

4.   Thème de Camille (Georges Delerue) 2:55

5.   Requiem pour un con (Music: Michel Colombier/Lyrics: Serge Gainsbourg) 5:35

6.   Lonesome Cowboy feat. Stone Jack Jones (Roy C. Bennett/Sid Tepper) 3:42

7.   Thème de Gerbier (Eric Demarsan) 5:21

8.   L’oiseau (Music: Daniel White + Eric Demarsan/Lyrics: Cecil Aubry) 3:20

 Erik Truffaz - trumpet

Alexis Anérilles – Piano, Keyboards, Synthesizer / Matthis Pascaud – Guitar
Marcello Giuliani - Bass, Double Bass / Raphaël Chassin - Drums

Bertrand Belin - Vocals (Track 2) / Stone Jack Jones – Vocals & Guitar (Track 6)

 

Nicht nur Kinofilme erhalten ein Sequel, wenn das Publikum nach mehr verlangt. Mit „Clap!“ legt Erik Truffaz jetzt nur wenige Monate nach seinem ersten Kinojazz-Album „Rollin‘“, das im April dieses Jahres erschien, die Fortsetzung dazu vor. Erneut hat er sich Juwelen der europäischen Filmmusik ausgesucht und interpretiert sie auf jazzig-freie, mal atmosphärische, mal groovende Art. 

Truffaz, 1960 in der Schweiz geborener französischer Jazztrompeter, bekennt sich seit langem zu seinem größten Vorbild Miles Davis. Seine Liebe zu dessen Klangsprache hört man seiner Musik an, ohne dass er dabei zu einem Epigonen oder gar Imitator wird. Auch die Klangästhetik eines Nils Petter Molvaer schwingt auf seinen Alben mit. 

Mit seinem zweiten Album voller sehr individueller Interpretationen von Filmthemen nimmt Truffaz seine Hörer wieder mit in den abgedunkelten Kinosaal. Sein atmosphärischer Kino-Jazz greift die Spannung, Melancholie und Faszination der Filme auf und führt sie durch Truffaz‘ Improvisationen in überraschende Sphären.

Den Anfang macht das Thema aus dem Filmdrama „Die Dinge des Lebens“ mit Romy Schneider und Michael Piccoli, eigentlich ein sentimentaler Ohrwurm, den Truffaz auf nervöse, dramatische Art in neue interpretiert.

Wesentlich gegenständlicher und Krimi-groovend ist Truffaz‘ Interpretation des Belmondo-Thrillerthemas „Der Greifer“ (L’alpagueur), hier kann man Action und Spannung des Filmes quasi mit geschlossenen Augen nacherleben.

Als Sohn eines Profimusikers trat Truffaz, noch bevor er sein erstes Lebensjahrzehnt beendet hatte, im Tanz-Orchester seines Vaters auf. Nach dem Besuch der Konservatorien von Genf und von Chambéry gründete er 1991 sein erstes Quintett und erspielte sich sogleich den Sonderpreis des Pariser Concours National de Jazz-Festivals. Zeitgleich begann er in der Hip-Hop-Formation „Silent Majority“ zu spielen. Seitdem trat er auch immer wieder mit DJs und Rappern auf. In seine Elektrojazz-Kompositionen mischt er Elemente von Hip Hop und elektronischer Musik.

How ‘bout another film? After Roll, here’s Truffaz again with Clap, the second instalment in his cinema stories, repeating the miracle of substituting his own images for those conjured up by the original soundtracks. Or, as director Bruno Nuyten puts it: “Beyond the memories of the films that are mentioned, Erik Truffaz’s interpretation opens the imagination to other films that have never been made”. Nicely put.

A quick example. The first notes of Georges Delerue’s theme, that infinite piano that resembles the stairs of Villa Malaparte, are enough to conjure up images from Godard’s Le Mépris (1963). Brigitte Bardot’s languid body, the illusion of conquest, a yellow bathrobe on an overly sunny terrace. Piccoli asks her why she despises him. She replies: “I’d never tell you, even if I were to die.

That’s how far we’ve come in our analogue memory when Truffaz’s trumpet, that poignant breath that leads to a scream, disrupts the performance. It’s the smell of a couple unravelling, it shifts Capri further north, where the wind cures nothing. Truffaz rewrites the script in the moment, creating space where there was only film.

Another quick example. Les Choses de la Vie (1970), music by Philippe Sarde. We’re immediately drawn into the grey Alfa Romeo Giulietta Sprint of Michel Piccoli, him again. The big bucolic bend, the red bus, the cattle hauler. Except that, in Truffaz’s reading, time expands to its point of maximum tension. To the nostalgia of La Chanson d’Hélène, the musician adds the possibility of rebellion. As if nothing were less certain than the foretold catastrophe.

To rewrite the script of our lives, Truffaz has assembled a troupe of born actors, starring the seismic Marcello Giuliani, with whom he has produced the album. These two have been partners in crime for so long that all they have to do to understand what they’re getting at is not look at each other. The double bass crackles, the pistons rattle, it sounds like the dialogue in a buddy movie in a land of thrills.

Then there’s Matthis Pascaud’s western guitar, Raphaël Chassin’s gangly drums, Alexis Anérille’s analogue leopard-skin keyboards – this new generation frolics freely in seemingly limitless playgrounds. If Truffaz directed films, he’d probably do it like Cassavetes or Pialat, to give all the roles the widest possible surface for improvisation. So that everyone can express what they’ve never even dared to admit to themselves.

In music as in cinema, those who play well bring the best out of each other. And that’s exactly what happens with this quintet. L’Alpagueur (1976) by Philippe Labro, music by Michel Colombier, the feature film ends with Oscar Wilde’s words: “No man is rich enough to buy back his past”.

It’s as if Truffaz’s band is re-enacting the plane fight between Jean-Paul Belmondo and Bruno Cremer. The Fender throws a right, which is answered by the slap of nervous strings, the uppercut of drums, and the brass that slams into your face. It’s a bloodless brawl, a conversation that turns white hot. 

The scenes unfold, the moods never repeating themselves. Requiem pour un Con, the moment when Jean Gabin enters the studio while Serge Gainsbourg sings. Here, the guitar blazes even brighter than Gainsbourg’s, and the mute crawls into the back of the spine; it sounds like the voice of a crooner who discovers mid-song that he’s never believed in love.

In this sentimental education, this feedback of emotions that were buried behind images, Truffaz also summons voices. Bertrand Belin singing about the false promise of paradise in David Lynch’s Eraserhead. Stone Jack Jones singing about the false promise of freedom in Loving You – Elvis Presley in a midnight blue shirt. These are words that pass like comets through a universe of sensations. 

In these film soundtracks, in this misappropriation of our scenes and sounds, Erik Truffaz finds that dreamlike state that precedes sleep and gives birth to tales. These are new films, weighed down neither by words nor images, and opening onto endless projections.

 

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