L'Impératrice

Broken heart syndrome is no fictional disorder. The phenomenon has a name: Tako Tsubo (or "octopus trap" in Japanese). It’s an upheaval of the senses, an emotional burnout... It weakens the heart's main pumping chamber brought on by intense emotional distress: an earthquake or a natural disaster, or something less (literally) earth shattering like the loss of a loved one or the angst felt when one is spurned by a lover. Modern science is yet to find a cure. Tako Tsubo is a breakup album, and Matahari's romantic streak - predicated on the idea of an idealised heroine - has made way for a landscape more anchored in reality. L’Impératrice has certainly kept his taste for dance, groove on a virtuoso bass, vintage synths and glittery melodies. But gave himself the freedom to explore other lands, to step aside. It’s a journey that has broadened the horizons of all of those who sail in the Empress. As for the elegance of the production, L'Impératrice has again teamed up with Renaud Letang (Jarvis Cocker, Liane La Havas, Feist), with the mighty Neal Pogue (Outkast, Stevie Wonder, Tyler the Creator) adding his mastery to the mixing. Travel has broadened the sound too. The framework of the French chanson which lay at the core of Matahari has been partially eschewed for the exploration of other territories with more rhythmical caprice and syncopated surprises like with Anomalie bleue, jumping every second pulse under the influence of love. If Tako Tsubo marks a break, it is also because the second album of L'Impératrice questions the world in which we live, the headwinds that animate it, these standards that have only faded: those who impose social networks or success (Tombée pour la scène); those that must be observed to write a song (L'équilibriste) or dance (Voodoo?). There’s also the sublime ‘Submarine’, one of the most recently written songs that questions the idea that we’re required to be endlessly happy, projecting aesthetically perfect lives online. Musically it’s built upon deep major seventh chords that are as welcome as a warm bath; lyrically it’s a celebration of fragility. It’s also up-to-date enough to reference the purgatory of lockdown. L’Impératrice has not lost her sense of lightness and interprets a sarcastically scathing ode to feminity ‘ Peur des filles ‘ in a feminist thriller, with accuracy and wittiness. Perhaps most surprising is the deep exploration of the avenues of the heart, and in particular, the left ventricle. Ambivalent love, euphoria, sorrow and madness: so many symptoms which, taken together, suggest a bad dose of Tako Tsubo. It’s a syndrome that leaves the heart damaged, submerged, swollen. And more alive than ever.