Garage à Trois reins in its hyperactive funk child on the soundtrack to this French film about Etienne, a “freakishly diminutive” but “concise and efficient thinking machine.” The story’s sonic backdrop unravels like any good narrative should: Outre Mer is full of Polaroid nostalgia for playful innocence, love and loss, but the quartet’s dark, gritty funk adds just enough danger to keep things interesting.
Focusing more on accents than the supergroup’s trademark theatrics, the title track opens as drummer Stanton Moore and eight-string guitarist Charlie Hunter construct a groove foundation for Skerik and Mike Dillon’s mysterious sax and vibraphone conversation. As the protagonist continues his dreaming childhood search for the elusive island escape of his sleep, Hunter’s Peter Gunn strut leads Skerik from clue to clue while Dillon taunts from the shadows of the song’s tricky corners. “The Machine” continues the hunt until Skerik blows the protagonist’s deep, patient breaths on “Etienne.”
Our hero finds love in the calypso shuffle of “Merpati,” a mischievous woman whose eternal vigor finds voice in Skerik’s distinctive skronk. Finally content on his fantasy island of Amanjiwo, Etienne slumbers on the calm waves of “The Dream,” and wakes to the raucous birth of his son, “Antoine,” whose six-foot frame casts a swampy shadow of doubt.
Ringmasters Dillon and Moore conduct the controlled chaos of “Circus,” where Antoine shines as the world’s tallest dwarf and Skerik flies on the trapeze above as Etienne lives out his days free from the cruelties of his childhood. The trickstep bass and drums and big band refrain of “Needles” follow Antoine’s big top career, further documented on the highwire tension of “The Dwarf” before the album closes with the contented slow jazz of “Amanjiwo.”
Hunter’s dark melody provides an ending, but no definite closure, to an intriguing story that may never reach theaters due to lingering legal problems. The soundtrack itself may be adequate recompense. Its brief liner notes add substance to sound, leaving the listener to question the necessity of the film itself. Preliminary reviews have hinted at a masterpiece, and Garage à Trois’s sonic imagery suggests the same. A fuller realization of the band’s full personality than their debut, Outre Mer plays to their typical jamband fanbase, but its depth and maturity deserve praise from jazz traditionalists as well. Beautiful and sad, dark and playful, Outre Mer may well be the closest we’ll ever get to this masterpiece on disc.
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