This is music that refuses ornamentation. No studio trickery, no layered production sheen\u2014just acoustic guitars, voices, and the kind of silence that most contemporary artists fear. The EP functions as soundtrack to a short film directed by Lo\u00efc Moyou, telling the story of Joshua, a recluse whose encounter with a frightened woman disrupts his solitary existence. It’s a western, ostensibly, though one drained of heroics and machismo, concerned instead with loneliness and the strange gravity that draws damaged souls together.<\/p>
The opening track, “Orphan’s Lament,” announces the project’s ambitions immediately. Robbie Basho’s 1978 piano meditation becomes, through Romuald Ballet-Baz’s guitar, an entirely different creature\u2014no less mournful, but earthier, more corporeal. Le Roux’s baritone carries the weight of classical training worn lightly, never ostentatious but always commanding. The restraint here is remarkable. Where lesser interpreters might have embellished, Ballet-Baz strips back, finding the essential emotional core and holding it up to the light.<\/p>
The selection of material reveals a band comfortable with their lineage. Johnny Cash looms large\u2014not just as influence but as spiritual godfather to this entire enterprise. The comparison to the *American Recordings* series isn’t mere marketing hyperbole; Steel & Velvet have absorbed that same philosophy of radical reduction, the belief that a good song needs nothing more than conviction and competent hands. They’ve chosen covers from Cash, Bob Dylan, Pixies, and Nirvana\u2014an eclectic roster united by their susceptibility to this stripped-down treatment.<\/span><\/p> The inclusion of Jade Le Roux on two tracks adds unexpected texture. Her presence doesn’t disrupt the EP’s cohesion but rather deepens it, suggesting the possibility of redemption through connection, a counterpoint to Joshua’s isolation. The interplay between father and daughter carries its own narrative weight, a reminder that these songs, however much they deal in archetypes of the lone wanderer, ultimately affirm human bonds.<\/span><\/p> Crucially, Steel & Velvet avoid the trap of reverence. Their interpretations aren’t museum pieces but living things, breathing with their own rhythm. When they tackle the Pixies or Nirvana\u2014artists whose original versions thrived on distortion and volume\u2014the translations work because the emotional core remains intact. Rage and despair don’t require amplification to register; sometimes they hit harder when whispered.<\/span><\/p> The band’s insistence on performing in venues where Le Roux can remain unamplified speaks to their understanding of intimacy as aesthetic choice. This isn’t Luddism but rather a recognition that certain songs demand proximity, that the grain of a voice and the creak of fingers on fretboard convey truths that disappear behind walls of sound. *People Just Float* captures this philosophy perfectly. The production, by Johann Le Roux himself, is so transparent you can practically hear the room breathing.<\/span><\/p> Yet for all its austerity, the EP never feels austere. The arrangements, though minimal, are meticulously crafted. Ballet-Baz and fellow guitarist Jean-Alain Larreur understand that space itself can be an instrument, that a well-placed pause carries as much meaning as any chord progression. Their blues-rock foundations provide earthiness without ever overwhelming the material’s folk origins.<\/span><\/p> *People Just Float* succeeds because it commits entirely to its vision. This is music made by people who trust their material and their abilities enough to let both speak plainly. The dreamlike western Moyou has constructed around these six songs only emphasizes what the music already knows: that American mythology, filtered through European sensibility and Breton temperament, becomes something stranger and more affecting than either tradition alone. Joshua’s story, and the songs that tell it, linger long after the final notes fade\u2014which is precisely the point.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
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