A Toys Orchestra
Technicolor Dreams

Pink Floyd, Beatles, Blur, Pavement, Smashing Pumpkins. Uncomfortable and illustrious citations, but they add depth. They are a young band. My compatriots. They are A Toys Orchestra. Children of experimentation. Electronic toys. Streamers. Plastic confetti. We're talking about their latest work 'Technicolor Dreams'. An album that paints strong emotions.

I had heard about the famous collaboration with Dustin O'Hallaran of the Devics. I wondered how they got in touch, and why an established musician would want to venture into producing an album for such a young band. Could it be for their talent? So I find myself holding the compact... with a mindset that is certainly the right one. The player kneads the first notes. The eardrums and curiosity are tense like rubber bands. The keyboards break the silence. The first track 'Invisible' flows. My expression immediately turns to astonishment. Unexpected melodies. Amorphous dimensions. Velvety atmospheres and gentle caresses. I'm astonished. It's only the first piece! We are about to encounter a variety of musical textures. Rock screenplays. Distinctly indie marks. Theatrical dust. Pop fluids. Shattered sensations and liberating screams. The sounds seem constructed by mechanisms of simple and perfect engineering. Electric currents that evoke torpid and surreal narratives. As in the synthetic sounds of 'Mrs Macabrette', one of the best tracks. Track number 3. Tears slide along the willows. We glide into the void. The wings slowly unfold. Voices begin to chase each other, seeking spaces beyond time. The sounds intertwine until they merge. Impalpable choirs. Blue skies. Blurred horizons. Vaguely western atmospheres. The Toys seem like aliens with enormous eyes. Soft atoms swirling together. White snowflakes stirring the still air. The piano's crystal mixes with the crimson red of blood. You feel the sounds walking down your spine. The record flows on its own.

The ballads follow one another. The jolting rhythms alternate with otherworldly visions. Restless and dreamy sensitivities: 'Letter To Myself', 'Power On The Words', 'Bug Embrace'. You hear a bit of everything. Decorative guitars, jolting bass, the at times harsh and at times gentle tone of the drums, the ever-framed electronics, lyrical interludes intertwined between verses and melancholy, and finally the piano that wraps it all up. We are all like trapped in a giant soap bubble rising towards the sky. Dream or wakefulness? The previously undefined shapes take form. Perhaps we are living in their world! The yellow becomes orange, then brick red, then black like chocolate. Distilled drops would be needed to accompany the sounds diluted with instinct and passion. The last tracks flow. 'Be 4 I Walk Away', 'Panic Attack #3'. The pop now dresses in unsettling scents and obsessive tunes like the chimes of a clock that defies silence. The record is finished.

We are then left with the memory of the smells, the tastes, of a tale with clear and dark traits, dense and rarefied, vivid and pale... In short, a dream of a thousand and more colors.