Camille Bazbaz

"I like stories that are both funny and sad at the same time, like in 1960s Italian films. But in music, you must never overdo the pathos. So I make people laugh and cry at the same time, always walking the line. I am a bad poet, but a good musician." (Camille Bazbaz) This happens on the first track of "La Chose", the fifth album by Camille Bazbaz. The song is titled "Insectes". On the surface, it's an amiable pop song, a tune you can whistle. Sumptuous brass arrangements reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield, delicately reggae rhythms, a piano spewing out the Liverpool pop school of 1967. Except that beneath the pop suit, a cloud of gloom hovers. A punk sensation. What do we hear in "Insectes"? "Je suis une enfance de mouche. Je suis une violence qui pleure et qui louche. Et même si j’ai tort, je crache sur la mort." Camille Bazbaz is a premier performer and crooner. A live beast nominated at the Victoires de la musique in the "Stage Revelation" category. Moving on now to the bittersweet, to the refusal to toe the line. Bazbaz is, first and foremost, the kind of guy who refuses to let himself be locked into those airtight boxes invented by the record industry to kill any deviance in the bud. When asked about his profession as a musician, the shaggy, unshaven young man stares at you with dark eyes: "It hurts me when I write, but I get a kick out of it too!" An anxious soul, an outsider who took the time to wrap his rage and doubts in silky music. Bazbaz is one of the few local artists to claim a mixed heritage. He browses Stax-era soul, highlighting the melancholic potential of this school of writing.