Dragon Rapide

Let’s cut to the chase, for a change. What do you want from a real rock band? First: style. Second: sound. Third: songs. In no particular order. The rest, my friends, is irrelevant, three sheets to the wind, cold fish and such, nothing but a lame reason for hanging around at the bar. Meanwhile, on stage, Dragon Rapide give it the works. With the tension, the electrifying tension, the high voltage of the trio, of friction, stripped down to the bone. When there’s only three of you, you’re not allowed to go wrong, to take some downtime, to slow down.
They’ve understood it perfectly: Sylvain (guitar/vocals), Jimmy (bass), and POG (drums). They’ve understood it because they’ve learnt, to the point of sweating blood, and even worse, on every (every!) possible stage, from the least likely to the most prestigious. They just got a bit tighter, that’s all. In Clermont-Ferrand, where that kind of lesson is quickly learnt, Dragon Rapide grew, here and there, thankfully in a cellar, but also under the sun, when the most naked pop quickly takes bright red colours, and even peels a little. The Dragon drank the very substance in one gulp, the one that still gives handsome erections, so as to write the logical follow-up to the great works of Nada Surf, Teenage Fan Club, Travis and other independent rock heroes of the last century, when people knew how to write guitar songs and to shimmy to driving rhythms. However, the mix is subtle...

Hervé Deffontis (translate: Suzy Borello)