How tortuous has Fred Demilliac’s artistic quest been? A first baby (Peace of a Cruising Rhythm) who grew up in the belly of an artist’s too pure spirit, nourished by a brilliant producer (Matt Hay), embraced by a prestigious record label (EMI), rocked by radio stations rapidly under the charm and quickly raised by an impressive tour (Montreux Jazz, Paléo, Gampel). It happened at the beginning of the century. And then… not much. Not much but this bitter taste at the back of the throat. This convic...

How tortuous has Fred Demilliac’s artistic quest been? A first baby (Peace of a Cruising Rhythm) who grew up in the belly of an artist’s too pure spirit, nourished by a brilliant producer (Matt Hay), embraced by a prestigious record label (EMI), rocked by radio stations rapidly under the charm and quickly raised by an impressive tour (Montreux Jazz, Paléo, Gampel). It happened at the beginning of the century. And then… not much. Not much but this bitter taste at the back of the throat. This conviction that cunningly, the hope of a career he did not even dare to imagine when composing his songs in his dressing gown, laying on the corner of his bed, had been nibbled. This period gave the Geneva songwriter in 2003 the inspiration for his second album Images. On his own, or almost. Two producers and friends TVO (Thierry Van Osselt) and Serge Morattel stood by him faithfully. But lightning slides under bright projectors have sometimes some good. Today, everyone is familiar with Fred Demilliac. Oh, perhaps his name tickles only few memories, but his voice and especially his talent marked the spirits.

“The need to seduce, I want more.” With 40 Muckross Avenue (Condor Records/ Irascible), Fred has composed Demilliac’s best album. Not the last chance one. No. Calculations swept by the back of a guitar’s handle, the forty years old with the face of a kid simply wanted to please him. Usually foolproof and powerful on the prowess’s motorway, his voice dares the more sinuous paths and by magic, its weaknesses make him all more sincere. A turn which he already started a few years ago in Irish bars, having to deal with a floor crammed all hanged up to his only lips and acoustic guitar. One of his most memorable and beautiful experiences in times where he lived on… Muckross Avenue in Dublin.

He who acknowledges a deep love for soul music, peeping more on Marvin Gaye’s style than James Brown’s, never denied his many other spiritual fathers, the likes of Gil Scott-Heron, Marc Lanegan, Bob Mould or Radiohead. But when Thom Yorke’s shade floats gracefully, the harmonica comes to remind us that one is well in the melancholic universe, sometimes icy, but deeply folk of Demilliac. In eleven titles as variegated as his own route, Fred cherishes forever the lyrics of Julie, his faithful New Zealand feather.

His new album in the pocket and an inexhaustible thirst to support it on stage together with his fellow travellers (Renato di Paolo on bass, Alex Craker on drums and guitar and Thierry Van Osselt on guitar), for sure will he cross the spotlights. But he, and only he, will point them in the right direction this time…