Dream A Little Dream: A Listen To Escapades By Gaspard Augé

Welcome, the opening track of Escapades plays. A curly-haired figure, distinguished in shades and a suave burgundy suit, approaches, bounding over dry, cratered rocks. His name? Gaspard Augé, but he does not speak. He is running intently; there is not much time to spare. He offers his hand. Do you take it? Well it's yours. One, two, three, close both eyes and take a leap of faith into a turning vortex, hazed in effervescent light, ready to traverse inconceivable lands where his sensational debut album dares lead you.

The spirit of Justice will always be in the hearts and cross of Augé and kindred soul and musical brother Xavier De Rosnay; their intuitive bond unbreakable, but a calling to Gaspard to recapitulate their anthemically charged orchestral Rock Rave emerged; still projected as a soundtrack at an Art Deco, independent cinema but on an alternative screen. More than ever, a genreless escape and excursion for the conscious landed on this Planet. And beyond.

Our introduction to the collection was enticer Force Majure; its luscious grandness stoked the fires, leaving the listener hyped. Dynamo synths greet high-pitch keys and lashings of the worshipped Bosphorus cymbal. We stand poised on a windy cliff, waves crashing below and eagles soaring overhead. Decorated with shields and swords, we are perfectly prepared for battle, ready for fate, eager to trust the cosmos.

French fictional adventurer Rocambole is honoured in the next intensely stunning track as we slide- graced with beaming smiles- down illuminated rainbows relishing the sights below. A clock ticks into a feel-good, merry tune and irresistible repetitive riff, discofied beat section with added base that sears through the body. Sythns evoke memories of Air to a running pulse and take off, leaving one fairly breathless.

A modern-day Bond score, Europa takes a suspense-filled train ride to the luxury of the Swiss Alps. The piano behaves as steady wheels on the track; all the while, the tune presents an ambience of mystery. A figure slides the cabin door shut, rests their back against it and holds their breath as the pursuers trundle by. A whirring, thick bass: the undertones of the fair, hold hands with agile notes and panning on Pentacle, where a tarot reader in a tiny, dimly lit with strings of hanging festoons and smokey tent shuffles 78 cards. What are you drawn to?

Second single, stormy Hey! diversified from the first, informing us that this record could not and would not be predicted. It opts for inky shade and dealings of the cold night, where a jarring spaceship bass steer to far eastern strings. A nomadic choir is waiting wrapped head to toe in the richest furs, and a breakdown-ornate and otherworldly, ethereal- rides to the final chant of tradition: Hey!

Bathed in resolute confidence of self, our cool, established composer has categorically stated that he wants to blur the boundaries of 'good taste or bad taste'. He encourages one to be entertained; after all, there are no guilty pleasures in music, appetisingly represented by Captain. Under a pastel-shaded hue, a turquoise river flows, crisp white outfits, the height of Parisian fashion, laze on a yacht of luxury with clouds of marshmallows pirouetting above; rays of sun stream on the faces and in the bubbles of champagne.

Captain's tune, light, melodious, airy; its 70's organ and choir occupy lengthy strokes to balance the jaunty angle of below deck and exuberant, hella baseline. There could not be a more suited producer than the brilliance of Victor Le Masne, hand in hand with Michael Declerck, for Gas sourcing all that is classical and current. His presence identified in sorrowful wonder Lacrimosa and the drum machined flair. A red chiffon curtain draped at a market in the orient sees a weeping, elegant face peer out, turn swiftly and breeze through the stalls, fabrics of vibrant hues billowing behind her steps.

What is House music without the carefree 90s? As Belladone powers through until sunrise seeps over the rooftops, revellers in unity have been hypnotised by a dancing curse; they can not stop their body and soul from moving to the music. To the outside eye, it is a beautiful sight. However, there is a sinister tone underneath the glamour. Short raps of the piano and handclaps join glimmers of Justice, coming into focus as a reminder of all that came before, recognised in this track and its funky hooks.

As a universally adored movie and gateway to Morocco, Casablanca here injects a Bossa Nova drip, and UFO synths converse with woodwind and angelic harp. The feet leave the floor to glide over the Atlantic and breathtaking architecture, weaving through buildings, tantalising the senses. Dependable Vox receives awesome drumming and is demure in status as a long, white nightgown and bare feet tread a cold stone floor in an ancient ruined castle. The candle is flickering in wake of the ghost passing by, breath on the back of the neck. The candle goes out; everything is black.

And now, the end is near. We wind up back on the rock where this very tale began. In the distance, we hear the hallucinogenic Rêverie. The sun is setting; it looks wiggly from the heat it projects. Stardust floats across the air as a dainty tune - joyful for all that has passed - is underscored by a hardy, sadder melody. It is time. Our curly-haired figure turns without word and marches away to the drum parade beat. He vanishes and fades out of sight.

Escapades stands proud, classically handsome, refined. It does not give thought or allow itself to be defined by style, trends or genre; it has the presence to simply be, to exist freely, to invite you to listen to and interpret its dreams and ideas. Where to next, we wonder? Well, we shall leave that to our protagonist, Mr Augé. But for now, this is my story. It is Gaspard's story. It is your story.

Release via Genesis / Ed Banger Records / Because Music

Article By Beverley Knight