In the name of research, I have conducted a scientifically controlled survey on a cross section of the British public to determine current attitudes towards contemporary Swiss culture.
Yes, well, in truth I sent an sms to some randomly picked friends on my mobile and asked what they thought when I said, “Switzerland”. Anyway, a sample of the given answers, accurate or gloriously inaccurate, are as follows:
- Cows, chocolate, The Alps, Heidi, men called Johan, tax exiles (e.g.Phil Collins), fondue, slalom skiers in lycra, cows, chocolate, no army and.....umm...Heidi.
All heartbreakingly predictable, so let us throw the clichés out with the cow bells and celebrate something new(ish).... those rustic punks, Mama Rosin.
The Cajun/Zydeco influenced trio (Cyril Yetarian - melodeon & vocals, Robin Girod - guitar & vocals, Xavier Bray – drums & vocals) have been cutting a bohemian swathe through the Mud Isle, destroying images of lederhosen clad alpine yodellers in their wake and promoting their 3rd release Black Robert (Gutfeeling Records). To date the band have achieved the epitome of UK musical acceptance by appearing on BBC2's, Later with Jools Holland; serenaded the nation on Radio 4's Loose Ends programme ; shared some witty duck banter with left wing national newspaper, The Guardian and by common consensus Robin Girod is a major contender for the Hair of the Year Award 2011. They also have a profitable little cottage industry going on selling their own Cajun inspired handmade Chilli Sauce and Peach Schnapps for sale at gigs.
The word is that Mama Rosin have been setting UK audiences alight from London all the 550 miles up to Inverness....or should I say until Inverness. For it is here, in the spiritual home of the hoe down, that paradoxically the 3 musical musketeer's have probably their most arduous night of the tour; trying to rouse a pub full of after-work drinkers who have come for the beer and not the band. This lot are more intent on moaning about the recession and petrol prices than putting on their dancing shoes.
Which presents an ever so slight problem as Cajun and Zydeco music is all about dancing shoes. It's about two steps, reels, jigs, shuffles, throwing off your worries and losing yourself in the beat. It is the music of French immigrants to the USA and the creole speaking Afro Caribbean's who found themselves displaced to Louisiana in the 18th century with probably a lot more to worry about than this lot. Their music evolved in the rural homes and sweaty dance halls of the Deep South to become one of the fore fathers of blues, jazz and rock and roll. Hell, if this can't raise these curmudgeons out of their slump tonight nothing will.
Sensing danger I seize the opportunity for a quick post sound check chat but I find myself gibbering nonsensically, like an idiot, and then struck dumb. I would like to blame this on the knock out strength of the pub's organic beer but the simple fact is that these guys are just too damn good looking. Cyril wouldn't look out of place in an Armani advert and Robin looks like he's just walked off the set of Starsky & Hutch, and ladies and gentlemen, positively oozes with energy, sex appeal and sideburns. When they begin to discuss the set list in their enthusiastic French, it is the final straw and I have to retreat to a dark corner filled with the old, ugly men to compose and to spread a bit of Mama Rosin propaganda. However, I do manage to determine that they are having a great tour so far and have no worries about audience apathy tonight as apparently it's just the same in “Geneva on a Tuesday night” (Oh, but except it isn't).
Undeterred by all the heads facing the wrong way they gregariously burst into tune and take those of us up for it (a few random's) into the Mama Rosin world of; beans, motorcycles, hell's kitchens, pistols, pistachio nuts and optimism. Heads do turn when the frottoir comes out and well they might: this wearable washboard is possibly one of the most fun instruments ever invented. Despite the blistering Le Pistolet and Le Two Step Du Haricot (a version of the iconic Clifton Chenier song, Les Haricots Sont Pas Salés) bums remain resolutely in seats. However, those men holding up the bar are warming up and I overhear one commenting that they sound Arabic. This may have something to do with the harmonising of Robin's reggae-ish vocal with Cyril's creole tones, which and in songs such as, Rita's Breakdown become almost primordial. These chameleons just love to surprise and in an instant they are letting rip with full on guitar driven blues, as in, Les Bon Temps Roulet (more Chenier), battering out some chaotic punkish numbers, Move your Popo, and then easing into a spot of classy jazz. Their instruments may include an accordion and a banjo but along with of their most of their contemporaries, The Velvet Underground (the 2009, Brule Lentement, cover has a chilli on it instead of a banana) and The Clash are cited as major influences. Listen to, Le Two Step Du Motorcycle, the Jimmy Reed/Velvet Underground-isation of a traditional creole song from Black Robert, or You Stole My Motorcycle from Brule Lentement to understand. Confused? This audience certainly is and enough to slowly sit up and take notice.
Now, to use a football analogy, it is said, that the sign of a really good team is one that has the heart to keep going and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. If they really were punks, the washboard would most probably have been smashed through the window and they would have spat, cursed and walked off snarling after 5 minutes. However, the thing about this band, is the hypnotic rhythms and their joie de vivre are just too strong and infectious. They chortle as Robin hits himself in the face with his microphone (accidentally) and Cyril happily celebrates having to sing into a sock for the first time in his musical career to avoid electrocution. At intervals they take off for a wander around the audience with the acoustic instruments. (All respect here: it's quite something to pull off walking around a pub amid such solemnity playing a triangle and wearing a metal vest.) Only, by the end, their persistence pays off and one old guy is even tapping a finger while a few others even peruse the vinyl and schnapps. If victory is relative then this one is on a scale that would make Garibaldi (substitute any famous Swiss army general here, I don't know any) proud.
Leaving I am stmruck with a severe case of gig envy for all those evenings on tour when Mama Rosin were on full power and in gloriously explosive sync with their audience. If you get the chance to catch this band live you MUST.
Lynn Dalgetty
Albums:
Tu As Perdu Ton Chemin (2008, Voodoo Rhythm Records)
Brule Lentement (2009, Voodoo Rhythm Records)
Voodoo Page: MAMA ROSIN
Yes, well, in truth I sent an sms to some randomly picked friends on my mobile and asked what they thought when I said, “Switzerland”. Anyway, a sample of the given answers, accurate or gloriously inaccurate, are as follows:
- Cows, chocolate, The Alps, Heidi, men called Johan, tax exiles (e.g.Phil Collins), fondue, slalom skiers in lycra, cows, chocolate, no army and.....umm...Heidi.
All heartbreakingly predictable, so let us throw the clichés out with the cow bells and celebrate something new(ish).... those rustic punks, Mama Rosin.
The Cajun/Zydeco influenced trio (Cyril Yetarian - melodeon & vocals, Robin Girod - guitar & vocals, Xavier Bray – drums & vocals) have been cutting a bohemian swathe through the Mud Isle, destroying images of lederhosen clad alpine yodellers in their wake and promoting their 3rd release Black Robert (Gutfeeling Records). To date the band have achieved the epitome of UK musical acceptance by appearing on BBC2's, Later with Jools Holland; serenaded the nation on Radio 4's Loose Ends programme ; shared some witty duck banter with left wing national newspaper, The Guardian and by common consensus Robin Girod is a major contender for the Hair of the Year Award 2011. They also have a profitable little cottage industry going on selling their own Cajun inspired handmade Chilli Sauce and Peach Schnapps for sale at gigs.
The word is that Mama Rosin have been setting UK audiences alight from London all the 550 miles up to Inverness....or should I say until Inverness. For it is here, in the spiritual home of the hoe down, that paradoxically the 3 musical musketeer's have probably their most arduous night of the tour; trying to rouse a pub full of after-work drinkers who have come for the beer and not the band. This lot are more intent on moaning about the recession and petrol prices than putting on their dancing shoes.
Which presents an ever so slight problem as Cajun and Zydeco music is all about dancing shoes. It's about two steps, reels, jigs, shuffles, throwing off your worries and losing yourself in the beat. It is the music of French immigrants to the USA and the creole speaking Afro Caribbean's who found themselves displaced to Louisiana in the 18th century with probably a lot more to worry about than this lot. Their music evolved in the rural homes and sweaty dance halls of the Deep South to become one of the fore fathers of blues, jazz and rock and roll. Hell, if this can't raise these curmudgeons out of their slump tonight nothing will.
Sensing danger I seize the opportunity for a quick post sound check chat but I find myself gibbering nonsensically, like an idiot, and then struck dumb. I would like to blame this on the knock out strength of the pub's organic beer but the simple fact is that these guys are just too damn good looking. Cyril wouldn't look out of place in an Armani advert and Robin looks like he's just walked off the set of Starsky & Hutch, and ladies and gentlemen, positively oozes with energy, sex appeal and sideburns. When they begin to discuss the set list in their enthusiastic French, it is the final straw and I have to retreat to a dark corner filled with the old, ugly men to compose and to spread a bit of Mama Rosin propaganda. However, I do manage to determine that they are having a great tour so far and have no worries about audience apathy tonight as apparently it's just the same in “Geneva on a Tuesday night” (Oh, but except it isn't).
Undeterred by all the heads facing the wrong way they gregariously burst into tune and take those of us up for it (a few random's) into the Mama Rosin world of; beans, motorcycles, hell's kitchens, pistols, pistachio nuts and optimism. Heads do turn when the frottoir comes out and well they might: this wearable washboard is possibly one of the most fun instruments ever invented. Despite the blistering Le Pistolet and Le Two Step Du Haricot (a version of the iconic Clifton Chenier song, Les Haricots Sont Pas Salés) bums remain resolutely in seats. However, those men holding up the bar are warming up and I overhear one commenting that they sound Arabic. This may have something to do with the harmonising of Robin's reggae-ish vocal with Cyril's creole tones, which and in songs such as, Rita's Breakdown become almost primordial. These chameleons just love to surprise and in an instant they are letting rip with full on guitar driven blues, as in, Les Bon Temps Roulet (more Chenier), battering out some chaotic punkish numbers, Move your Popo, and then easing into a spot of classy jazz. Their instruments may include an accordion and a banjo but along with of their most of their contemporaries, The Velvet Underground (the 2009, Brule Lentement, cover has a chilli on it instead of a banana) and The Clash are cited as major influences. Listen to, Le Two Step Du Motorcycle, the Jimmy Reed/Velvet Underground-isation of a traditional creole song from Black Robert, or You Stole My Motorcycle from Brule Lentement to understand. Confused? This audience certainly is and enough to slowly sit up and take notice.
Now, to use a football analogy, it is said, that the sign of a really good team is one that has the heart to keep going and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. If they really were punks, the washboard would most probably have been smashed through the window and they would have spat, cursed and walked off snarling after 5 minutes. However, the thing about this band, is the hypnotic rhythms and their joie de vivre are just too strong and infectious. They chortle as Robin hits himself in the face with his microphone (accidentally) and Cyril happily celebrates having to sing into a sock for the first time in his musical career to avoid electrocution. At intervals they take off for a wander around the audience with the acoustic instruments. (All respect here: it's quite something to pull off walking around a pub amid such solemnity playing a triangle and wearing a metal vest.) Only, by the end, their persistence pays off and one old guy is even tapping a finger while a few others even peruse the vinyl and schnapps. If victory is relative then this one is on a scale that would make Garibaldi (substitute any famous Swiss army general here, I don't know any) proud.
Leaving I am stmruck with a severe case of gig envy for all those evenings on tour when Mama Rosin were on full power and in gloriously explosive sync with their audience. If you get the chance to catch this band live you MUST.
Lynn Dalgetty
Albums:
Tu As Perdu Ton Chemin (2008, Voodoo Rhythm Records)
Brule Lentement (2009, Voodoo Rhythm Records)
Voodoo Page: MAMA ROSIN
