Certaines Ruines


LP version; includes printed inners and download. Of all the Cyrils born in the city of Calvin (Geneva) at the dawn of the '80s, these two were bound to find each other. Two Cyrils like two dizygotic souls whose contingencies have brought their meeting forward. Cyril Cyril. A liberated hydra, born in this city of diplomats where Borges duplicated his rejuvenated ego in The Other (1972). A muezzin without borders, Cyril Yeterian came to the disheveled world through Mama Rosin, a three-piece that stirred the ghosts of the rogue bayou, the clammy Mardi Gras of some electric Louisiana. Soon, the world fell in love with their flair. The BBC celebrated them, Jon Spencer produced them, records proliferated. And then in 2017, the honeymoon period passed; Cyril was alone. Within the same space-time, Cyril Bondi hit the road: Diatribes, La Tène, Insub Meta Orchestra, the most adventurous projects of the Geneva scene all included this percussionist in search of unheard beats. He soon found an accomplice for musical prospecting, another Cyril in tune with his rebellious instinct. A guitarist and an accordionist, Cyril Y. took on the banjo, adding effect pedals to it to turn it into a puny bouzouki, an epic bağlama or a krar. Cyril B. cobbled some cannibal drum kit together, with massive jingle bells and tropical nut shells embedded in his marching bass drum. For Cyril Cyril, music is a way of the world, a joyful decentration offering new keys to comprehend chaos. The point here has nothing to do with some globalized country excursion nor some gluten-free exoticism. Apart from tracing back the family pathway of some Lebanese dialect, Yeterian chants rhapsodies in French, the merciless terms of which say it all about coming insurrections. Certaines Ruines is thus a wordy lampoon of hoaxers, of neo-post-everything killjoys. Cyril Cyril know the superior power of suggestion, of temperance, of happy sobriety. A single word, a single cry can say a lot, as long as it is soulful. The sound of a duo reduced to its simplest expression: rhythm, a riff, a voice can bear within itself an infinitely luxuriant musical organism. Cyril Cyril, so real, so rich.