The musical life of Gilles is a story of a never-ending fall. It all started pretty when at the age of 4, Gilles started learning the piano. Was it the overwhelming prospect of becoming a virtuoso or a congenial gallic sloppiness, nevertheless Gilles thought that Life would be an easy ride with over 72 strings eagerly expecting the soft touch of the hammers pushed by his then fatty fingers. After numerous schoolyard scraps, disappointing performances both on the football pitch and the tatami, Gilles woke up one morning to find out that he was only left with six strings.

This is one of these self-defining moments when one realizes that the partying has been too good and that it is time to get to work. Gilles had only six strings left, so he deceived himself with the illusion that he could start a career as a guitarist. After a few broken nails and plectra, Gilles found out that he could try and cover up the awful sounds of his strumming with some vocal efforts that in those post-punk years of World Music discovery could be mistaken for some tribal chant aimed at facilitating the reproductive process of feral water rats in preparation for what is the equivalent of our New Year’s turkey dinner.

With some persuasion, Gilles managed to find some other people with either an equally bad taste for music or a keen interest in baby water rats kebabs.  The bands were called Epicure, Les Nubiles and The Theory but never managed to cross the borders of Saint-Maur-Des-Fossés. Trust me, this is when you feel thankful for the Channel!

The worst was yet to come though. Gilles reverted to his old ghosts and started spending away the little credibility he had managed to build. One of his friends took him to a party where Gilles got a whiff of corporate life, and the downward spiral resumed relentlessly. Eventually Gilles found himself washed upon the shores of a foggy island and he was soon taken under the protection of a strange bald man who guided him through a cathartic initiation. The bald man had himself gone through some painful personal experience and once explained to Gilles: “You see little cricket, your strings are like my long gone hair, if you do not take care of them, you will only have your eyes to cry”.

Gilles then saw the gates of air guitar competition open in front of him, he slammed them closed in a salutary rage and decided to take on the bass with the four strings he had left. Of course, things will never be like they used to be when Gilles could see himself competing with Richard Clayderman but at last, with Moosejaw Gilles has found a house where he feels he belongs and where he can share his feeling of failure without having to be ashamed of it (apart from the fact that he was born French, but what did you expect…, a miracle?).

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