At once an inhabitant of the shadows and light, Scalde cultivates his distance. An obsessive perfectionist on a quest to find the musical Grail that will allow him to turn into notes his concept of the world from his small den by the banks of the Lyonnais Saône. Scalde is a pioneer of songs and sounds, continuously in the vanguard of an agit-pop. His work is Poperetta, an album of a dark kind of feverishness, a lo-fi opera fed on electro-organic subtleties, unveiling the dawn-like strangeness of its composer. An album in which the fluttering chorus buzzes drunk around the light of hypnotic loops, where the vocal patchwork, bringing together the sensitivity of Robert Wyatt with the sky-blue solitude of Tim Buckley, haunts the darker depths of Nico, the labyrinths of Terry Riley, or the unexplored mountain tops of Bjork. Like a pocket symphony whose size was once dictated by the limited space from whence it came - a small composition that in the open spreads out its gigantic wings.
