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LP version. Star Feminine Band, hardest working women in Beninese show business, present their third album on Born Bad. These eight young women, from a village that even Beninese can't quite place, started out in hard mode. They had to convince themselves that it was worth a shot, but also their family, their village and an entire continent. André Balaguemon, composer, manager and lyricist, does a lot, while remaining in the background. He put the group together, included his three daughters, houses everyone with his wife Edwige who also manages dances and costumes. He gave them a musical training, and created the framework for them to continue school while rehearsing hard. From local heroes to UNICEF ambassadors, the group has made it. The very existence of this new album is a testament to the perseverance of Grâce, Anne, Urrice, Bénie, Angélique, Sandrine, Julienne, and Ashley. The personnel of this family affair has changed a bit: two new women have joined the group, which conquered bigger stages. This new album brings simple joys: watching them grow from Benin's first girl band to a band in its own right. Star Feminine Band makes straightforward music, taking no detours to express what's missing in the country. The musicians having a lot of fun on this album. It wanders through the vast territory of the countless West African styles. They even make a quick foray into reggae to talk about marriage (with a little rap thrown in), and interweave their voices in multiple languages (Waama, Ditamari, Bariba, Fon, Yoruba). And boy do they have hits. To each is own, but "L'enfant c'est un don de Dieu" (Child is god's gift) is a mighty steamroller, methodically smoothing out the ground for dancing together to its final chorus, singing "debout-les-en-fants / get up, kids!" along. Smoother than the first two albums, supported by fine arrangements, ambitious keyboard parts and more complex vocal harmonies without losing any of their spontaneity, this third opus quietly adds to Benin's musical heritage. As they make clear in "Jusqu'au bout du monde," a clever little number that listeners can already hear swelling up on stage.
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