In a previous life, La Féline was a threesome. Three voices joined as one on a handful of EPs with diverse influences, trying to find their place between musical genres, languages, and experiences, guided by the writing and the luminous vocals of singer and guitarist Agnès Gayraud. Then came Adieu l'enfance in 2014, the first album for which Agnès alone carried the feline fur, and made her mark. A unique voice emerged from the album, giving free reign to obsessions that had had only been hinted at previously. As cathartic as its title implies and entirely sung in French, Adieu l'enfance was also a rebirth with hypnotic new wave sounds, urban climates and introspective lyrics, a place into which the outside world would sometimes crash, in an explosion of broken glass.
While creating her second album, Triomphe, guided by Dionysus, the god of intoxication and lust (while the minimal synthpop of Adieu l'enfance had more Apollonian hints), she started by imagining herself as a ruthless warrior or Miyazaki-like wildling. Triomphe is like some ambitious place where La Féline transforms the forest into a refuge, the sea into a primordial swamp from which to emerge reborn, and projects herself into a city of Tokyo where nature has reclaimed its rights. In this place we meet Greek gods and spirit animals ("Senga"), talk of renaissances ("Samsara," "Le Plongeur" – pulled down to the depths by the sound of an octobass), question the place of man in the community ("Le Royaume," "Comité rouge").
Behind this ambiguous title and sleeve with its mystic look, the atmospheres are profound and sensual, the colors warm and the grooves sinuous. Between the lines pierces an imagination that has been nourished as much by movies as mangas, as much by ancient myths as popular archetypes. In the eyes of La Féline, the world exists in a half light, with fantastical colors, a place where opposites seek each other, seek balance. Here, the purity of expression is intense. Here, the savagery is sweet.