Cordier is probably known to most people for his "Digitalis Purpurea" cd on Ground Fault, or for his works with Éric La Casa and Jean-Luc Guionnet in the Afflux project. This 6-track, 73-minute work is a very intimate, yet political work (or, say, intimate like every truly heartfelt political statement), recorded using an old 10" vinyl as the main sound-source, filtered through a delay pedal and other unidentified "handmade devices", with the sporadic use of some outdoor field recordings and the constant one of vinyl noises themselves (scratched surfaces, motors, etc.). As Cordier explains in the inner notes, "the source record may be familiar to older generations as one of the first recordings on which the Breton language found its place again after decades of persecution and censure. Since the record became available, these pieces have taken their place in a national collection that has helped reassess the value of songs and language that were hitherto considered obsolete by the intelligentsia and the state". These lines should give you a necessary clue about Cordier's intents, along with the use of Breton in the liner notes themselves and with evocative titles like "Mes chaînes seront brisées" and "Vieux pays de mes péres". Cordier uses the pre-recorded vinyl support in a way similar to Philip Jeck's and Loren Chasse's, that is, a highly emotional and somewhat respectful re-reading of the past, in search of forgotten or - the main difference with Cordier - historically downtrodden memories. The original sound source (which the author calls "horrible because of the catechism-like vocal arrangements but a work of genius in terms of the beauty of the melody and the conviction of the singers") is mangled and stretched, but maintains a solemn, almost sacral feel; listen to "Breizhiselad/Ar Baradoz", the field-recordings ridden "Lieux de repos" or "Vieux pays de mes pères", all very intense pieces. These evocative qualities are present even when the melody is reduced to a minimum, and the track is mostly built on vinyl crackles, as in the final "Tu es le portier qui m'ouvre le ch'teau". Cordier has written a fascinating work, which manages to shed light on crucial matters like traditions, or the risk of losing your own tongue, without writing rhetorical manifestos. As an aesthetic experience, it grows with each listen, and I honestly wouldn't advise to take it all in one go, as it could sound redundant at first. A much recommended record for sure.