A trinity of fine triggers with the build of a gently lunatic cyclops, whose autopsy will reveal traces of pure lyrical emphasis beneath the steaming crumbs of flonflons pulverized by a ferocious groove. At Saddam’s, it takes three to smash the tables of sobriety.

The Saddam Webcam epic inaugurates the golden age of instrumental domotics, when two enlightened fools decide to race for the shallot, using an instrumentarium inversely proportional to their musical intentions. We’re talking about a jabbering bass caught on the tail of a swaggering drum kit that gets beaten up more often than not. It’s a time of virile clashes on eruptive tracks left unattended, of cunning winks between two corridors of shots strung together at three thousand miles an hour, of saturated sound spaces and live vertigo under the control of stunned expert committees.

The miracle of the encounter takes place shortly afterwards, at the bend in an urban forest, with the rainbow nightingale’s sorcerous song. A gentle concussion with the appearance of a providential jolt, the indocile little Saddam had just found his voice, which would guide him on the boulevard of maturity. Now with three of them at the helm, without giving in to the frenzy of their beginnings, but with the addition of lyrical fantasy, the discourse is enriched, softened and balanced by the intense work of the text, when the words impart their flow to the score and perch in counterpoint to the orchestra. On stage, the group can draw on an inexhaustible gauge of energy, dispensed to the full.

A demo was first recorded to confirm the alliance, before the crew finally launched their first opus, “Excès de Beurre et Ruine Morale”, proving that there’s still room for real problems on earth.