Antena

There are moments in life when we find ourselves in a kind of stasis, suspended in space and time, a hidden universe revealing itself before our eyes, where we can almost glimpse the folds of time, where past, present and future blend into a single, cathartic, perfect moment. Put “Camino del Sol” on the turntable, and chances are you'll be able to feel that very moment.

First, a bit of background: Antena is the name of a Franco-Belgian trio built around the figure of Isabelle Powaga, known artistically as Isabelle Antena, a French singer of boundless charm with an all-consuming devotion to bossa nova. The trio is made up of Isabelle, Sylvain Fasy and Pascale Moiroud, the latter involved until 1983. Around the start of 1982, the three musicians captured the perfection of an instant, the ecstasy of a fleeting moment, on record, crafting what remains a work that anticipated, by many years, countless later iterations of beach-side lounge music — and much more besides.

The story behind this “record’s” circulation is unfortunately a messy one, much like so many other cult albums that were initially forgotten by everyone, only to later resurface haphazardly on the market, depending on whichever revival was in vogue or on the will of some small label intent on rescuing lost gems for the dance, chill-out and related scenes. In reality, the album first came out in a mini version containing just five tracks, released by the Belgian label Les Disques du Crépuscule, run by Michel Duval and Annik Honoré (the muse of Ian Curtis), with a fantastic cover designed by Benoît Hennebert. The same label decided in 1988 to expand the work, adding several tracks produced during the same period.

In the years that followed, after touring as support for Paul Haig, Tuxedomoon and Cabaret Voltaire, sweet Isabelle, encouraged by producer Martin Hayles, decided to move to London, where, together with Fasy, she put out a series of EPs until 1985, before turning to a solo career. Various songs from those EPs were later included, depending on the label in question, in the different expanded editions of “Camino del Sol” that circulated around the world. These are all more or less similar versions, put out by notable labels such as the German Interphon and Permanent Vacation, or the American Numero Group; each one differs from the others in its choice of bonus tracks or simply in track order. However, it's the version put together in 1988 by the original label, the aforementioned Les Disques du Crépuscule, that is actually the most significant and, in effect, the definitive one.

But let's get to the music: the album seems to aim at capturing that very cathartic moment described above. The trio pulls it off with a magical blend of synths and samba, sprinkled with bossa nova and lightness. What emerges is a perfect sequence of graceful, suspended moments, which become almost a “physical” sensation, capable of transporting us to our magical refuge, our safe harbour, our dream of hope. For some it's a beach, for others a clifftop in Ibiza, for others still a library, and for others yet a glass of wine in Paris with someone special. It doesn't matter what it is — rest assured, this record will take you there.

“Camino del Sol” is a kind of “political” manifesto, skilfully weaving together ideas from different generations and places to create an amalgam that defies expected coordinates. The influences are naturally numerous, starting with French chanson, continuing through Brazilian singer-songwriters, and reaching all the way to Italy's own Piccioni and Umiliani, all blended together with the nascent synth music and minimal electronic experimentation of the time.

It's the triumph of the synthetic element dancing gracefully on the strength of flesh-and-blood energy, accompanied by Antena's sinuous, sensual vocals. At the same time, different approaches take shape, ranging from the exotic drumming of the title track - complete with sampled birdsong - conjuring up a kind of warm, muffled zen retreat to lose oneself in, to the vaguely minimal-wave gait of "To Climb The Cliff" and "Achilles", all the way to the lulling, Brazilian-tinged atmospheres of "Sissexa", the Parisian-cabaret climax of "Les demoiselles de Rochefort" (a cover of Anne Germain and Claude Parent's "Chanson des jumelles") and, dulcis in fundo, the liquid samba of "The Boy From Ipanema" (another superb cover, of the piece by João Gilberto and Stan Getz with Astrud Gilberto), produced for the occasion by the great John Foxx.

The overall result is something that, in its own way, would go on to play a key role in modern music, and above all in how it's consumed. "Camino del Sol" is still cited today as a source of inspiration by countless artists, in whom it's easy to spot an invisible umbilical cord connecting them to Antena: Air, Thievery Corporation (and it's no coincidence that they reworked one of Isabelle's own tracks, "Nothing To Lose", in 2006), Stereolab and many others. But it can also be seen as a symbol-album for a whole way of listening - the perfect record for the places of the soul and beyond, the ideal soundtrack for every Café del Mar in the world, simply perfect for contemplating life and its everyday magic.

* This version of the album was released in 1988 and includes tracks produced in 1982.

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18/06/2017