It is in Bordeaux where the group Fada was born, encountered among four virtuoso instrumental musicians and a militant poet. This quartet presents us a intellectual-sensory groove at the bottom of polyrhythmic funky, more close with the constructions of a Steve Coleman that some buckles are repeated over and over strongly in the "fonque" finely in ours. The drum is harsh, nervous, and precise, the bass hums plays with tricks, the Rhodes injects a spirit of seventies baldly, while the saxophone changes between the contemporary lyricism and the swing of bop. Not below it, but in it, interlocked, blended, merged, the voice recounts, indicates, sings, delights, and ripples among these arabesques of instrumental musicians. The fusion is total. This is not cohabitation, not an association, this is a group. Marco Codjia, the slammer of Fada is not jazzy, he is jazz. He doesn't serve for the music, but makes it his own. For a long time to go over those instrumental musicians, he really puts himself into the fifth musician on the contrary, who exchanges and improvises with the others. Fada dances in the composed musical time, the odd metrics in order to reach an ideal alchemy between the body and the spirit, which carries us away towards the faraway fancied souvenir.
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