Les Maledictus Sound - 1968 - Les Maledictus Sound

Les Maledictus Sound

1968 

Les Maledictus Sound

01. Kriminal Theme 2:35

02. The Whistler 2:55

03. Inside My Brain 2:40

04. Blues Section Club 2:50

05. Concerto Genocide 2:50

06. Transfer From The Modulation 2:55

07. Ams Tram Gram 2:30

08. Entrac Theme 2:50

09. Radio Pirat Program 2:35

10. Spidly Made In Gaulle 2:25

11. Jim Clark Was Driving Recklessly 2:15

12. Dark Sky 2:3

13. Crazy Circus 2:45

14. Art Director 2:25

15. Heathcliff Y Cry our Name 2:50

16. Monster Cocktail 2:

Composed By – Jean-Pierre Massiera

Tenor Saxophone – Paul Baile

Bass – Pierre Demaria

Double Bass – Edmond Aublette

Drums – André Ceccarelli

Drums, Timbales – Nicolas Montalbano

Guitar [Solo] – Patrick Djivas

Kazoo, Voice [Effects] – Guy Sabato

Organ – Bernardini

Piano – René Bec

Rhythm Guitar – J.-Claude Chavanat, Richard Pasero

Trumpet, Violin – Jean Buzon

Violin [Violons], Horns [Cors] – Opéra De Monte-Carlo, Opéra De Nice*\

Violin, Bass Clarinet, Baritone Saxophone [Bariton] – Georges Amadi

Recorded in April 1968 in Studio SEM, Nice

In the annals of musical oddities, few albums are as gloriously unhinged as Les Maledictus Sound, the 1968 debut (and only) release by the French ensemble of the same name. Conceived by the eccentric genius Jean-Pierre Massiera, this record is a psychedelic Frankenstein’s monster, stitched together from scraps of jazz, lounge, musique concrète, and pure, unadulterated weirdness. Released on Disc’AZ in France (and under various titles and labels elsewhere), it’s a 17-track fever dream that careens from kitschy pop to horror-movie soundscapes, often within the same song. It’s the kind of album that makes you wonder if the studio was laced with absinthe—or if Massiera simply decided to throw every idea he’d ever had into a blender and hit “purée.” Below, I offer a scholarly yet accessible analysis of Les Maledictus Sound, a review of its musical and cultural significance, a brief biography of key band members, and the historical context that birthed this bizarre masterpiece. Expect a sprinkle of wit and irony, as befits a record that seems to cackle at its own audacity.

Biographical Sketch of Key Band Members

Jean-Pierre Massiera (lead guitar, composer, engineer) was the mad scientist behind Les Maledictus Sound, a French musical maverick whose career reads like a fever dream penned by Salvador Dalí. Born in 1941 in Nice, Massiera was a session guitarist and producer with a penchant for the bizarre. Before Les Maledictus Sound, he was already experimenting with studio trickery, and after, he unleashed a string of cult projects like Horrific Child, Herman’s Rocket, and Visitors, each weirder than the last. Massiera’s genius lay in his ability to blend genres with reckless abandon, creating music that was both ahead of its time and gleefully out of step with it. One imagines him in the studio, twirling a metaphorical mustache while muttering, “More screams! More chipmunk voices!”

Paul Baile (alto/tenor saxophone, arranger, musical director) was the yin to Massiera’s yang, a seasoned saxophonist and arranger who brought a touch of professionalism to the chaos. Baile’s work on Les Maledictus Sound helped ground Massiera’s wilder impulses, ensuring the album’s eclectic tracks didn’t collapse under their own weight. Little is known about Baile’s broader career, but his contributions here suggest a man who could keep a straight face while recording a track called “Monster Cocktail.”

André Ceccarelli (drums) was a young but already accomplished jazz drummer, later to become a French jazz legend. In 1968, Ceccarelli was just 22, lending his formidable chops to Massiera’s sonic circus. His ability to navigate the album’s shifting rhythms—from lounge grooves to frenzied freakouts—hints at the versatility that would define his career. One suspects Ceccarelli occasionally glanced at Massiera during sessions, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

The ensemble was rounded out by a sprawling cast of session musicians, including Patrick Djivas (lead guitar), Edmond Aublette (acoustic bass), Pierre Demaria and Georges Amadi (bass and bass clarinet/violin, respectively), Nicolas Montalbano (drums/timpani), and members of the Orchestre National de l’Opéra de Monte-Carlo and Orchestre Philharmonique de Nice for strings and horns. This motley crew was less a band than a temporary alliance of musical mercenaries, assembled in Massiera’s Nice studio to bring his warped vision to life. Their collective CV reads like a who’s-who of French session work, but their willingness to indulge Massiera’s whims suggests either bravery or a very good paycheck.

To understand Les Maledictus Sound, one must step into the kaleidoscopic chaos of 1968, a year when the world seemed to be rewriting its own rulebook. In France, the May ’68 student protests had shaken the establishment, infusing the cultural scene with a spirit of rebellion and experimentation. Musically, the late 1960s were a time of boundary-pushing, with psychedelic rock, jazz, and electronic music colliding in glorious disarray. The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967) had opened the floodgates for studio experimentation, while Pierre Henry’s musique concrète and Frank Zappa’s genre-bending antics provided a blueprint for the avant-garde.

France’s music scene was particularly fertile, with artists like Serge Gainsbourg and Michel Polnareff blending pop with provocation. Across the Atlantic, the psychedelic movement was in full swing, and its influence seeped into Europe, where musicians like Massiera eagerly absorbed and warped it. Les Maledictus Sound also owes a debt to the “space age pop” of the 1950s, with its obsession with sci-fi and exotica, as well as the campy soundtracks of 1960s B-movies. The album’s release on multiple labels (Disc’AZ, Canusa, Grand Prix, Révolution, SEM) under different titles (Maledictus Sound, Attention, Jim-Clark, L’Expérience 9) reflects the era’s laissez-faire approach to record distribution, as well as Massiera’s apparent delight in sowing confusion. It’s as if he wanted to ensure no one could pin down exactly what this album was supposed to be.

Les Maledictus Sound is a 17-track, 47-minute sonic assault that defies categorization, blending psychedelic rock, easy listening, jazz, and experimental soundscapes with a gleeful disregard for coherence. Recorded in April 1968 at Studio S.E.M. in Nice, the album is a testament to Massiera’s studio wizardry, featuring early examples of sampling (notably Pierre Henry’s musique concrète) and a dizzying array of effects—screams, chipmunk vocals, and what sounds like a theremin having an existential crisis. It’s a record that feels like it was made for a 1960s spy flick directed by a hallucinating Fellini.

The album’s sonic palette is as sprawling as its personnel. Massiera’s lead guitar and Baile’s saxophones provide the melodic core, while Ceccarelli and Montalbano’s drums drive the rhythm with a mix of jazz precision and rock abandon. Organs (played by Bernardini) and pianos (René Bec) add lounge-y textures, and the orchestral strings and horns lend a cinematic grandeur. The production is dense, with layers of sound effects—screeches, whispers, and distorted voices—piled atop catchy pop hooks. Tracks rarely exceed three minutes, giving the album a frenetic, channel-surfing quality.

Stylistically, Les Maledictus Sound is a collage of 1960s genres: psychedelic pop (“Kriminal Theme”), space age lounge (“The Whistler”), brass-heavy jazz-rock (“Blues Section Club”), and outright experimentalism (“Monster Cocktail”). It’s claimed to be inspired by post-modernism, a lofty label that might just mean Massiera wanted to mess with everyone’s heads. The album’s use of vocal “utterances” (read: random screaming) and kitschy hooks makes it feel like a Halloween soundtrack crossed with a game show theme. As one reviewer noted, it’s “an easy listening album that took some extreme unorthodox liberties for the year 1968.”

Let’s dissect a few tracks to capture the album’s manic energy:

“Kriminal Theme” (2:44): The opener is a psychedelic big-band banger, with blaring horns, fuzz guitar, and a driving beat that screams “1960s spy movie chase scene.” It’s groovy, campy, and just unhinged enough to hint at the madness to come. You can almost see Massiera grinning as he cranks the reverb, daring the listener to keep up.

“Inside My Brain” (2:54): This track is a psychedelic freakout, with distorted guitars, swirling organs, and vocal shrieks that sound like someone’s trapped in a haunted funhouse. It’s chaotic yet catchy, a reminder that Massiera could write a hook even while losing his mind. The spaced-out synths are remarkably advanced for 1968, making you wonder if Massiera had a time machine stashed in the studio.

“Monster Cocktail” (3:14): The album’s wildest moment, this track is a horror-movie pastiche complete with blood-curdling screams, dissonant strings, and a rhythm that lurches like a zombie. It foreshadows Massiera’s later Horrific Child project and feels like it was designed to scare the neighbors. It’s gloriously over-the-top, the musical equivalent of a B-movie poster.

“L’étrange Monsieur Whinster” (8:41, bonus track on reissues): Added to later releases, this nearly nine-minute epic is a departure, blending afro-psychedelic grooves with prog-rock complexity. It’s more serious than the rest of the album, suggesting Massiera could dial back the camp when he wanted to. It’s a fascinating glimpse into what Les Maledictus Sound might have become had they continued.

“Stupidly Made in Gaulle” (2:29): With a title that pokes fun at French nationalism (or maybe just De Gaulle himself), this track is a jaunty, organ-driven ditty with chipmunk vocals and a Vaudeville vibe. It’s utterly bizarre, yet you’ll catch yourself humming it. Massiera’s tongue is firmly in cheek here, and you can’t help but admire his gall.

The album’s greatest strength is its sheer audacity. Les Maledictus Sound is a fearless plunge into uncharted territory, blending genres with a boldness that was rare for 1968. Massiera’s production is innovative, with early sampling and effects that anticipate the experimentalism of the 1970s. The ensemble’s musicianship is impeccable, particularly Ceccarelli’s drumming and Baile’s arrangements, which keep the chaos from spiraling into incoherence. The album’s campy charm and infectious energy make it a joy to listen to, especially for fans of the weird and wonderful.

However, Les Maledictus Sound isn’t flawless. Its relentless eclecticism can be exhausting, and the album’s reliance on a single musical template—kitschy hooks plus weird effects—leads to a sense of sameness by the end. Some tracks, like “Heathcliff Y Cry Your Name,” feel like filler, and the orchestral interludes can come off as throwaways. As one ProgArchives reviewer noted, “it sort of adopts a musical template and then doesn’t really deviate from it throughout the entire album’s run.” For listeners expecting a cohesive narrative or deep emotional resonance, the album’s novelty might wear thin. And let’s be honest: those chipmunk voices are either hilarious or deeply annoying, depending on your tolerance for whimsy.

Les Maledictus Sound is a pivotal artifact in the history of French experimental music, bridging the gap between 1960s psychedelia and the progressive rock explosion of the 1970s. Its collage-like approach prefigures the genre-blending of artists like Frank Zappa and Soft Machine, while its studio innovations align it with pioneers like Pierre Henry. The album’s release in multiple countries under different titles reflects its international appeal, as well as Massiera’s knack for marketing chaos. Its influence can be heard in later French acts like Magma and in the quirky soundtracks of 1970s cult films.

The album’s cult status among collectors—original vinyl copies fetch hundreds of dollars—stems from its rarity and sheer strangeness. Reissues by Mucho Gusto and Dagored, particularly the 2011 180-gram vinyl with the bonus track “L’étrange Monsieur Whinster,” have kept it alive for new generations. As a Bandcamp review put it, it’s “a laboratory monster… a strange creature assembled from a mishmash of diverse musical sounds.” For scholars, the album is a case study in post-modernism (or perhaps post-sanity), a reminder of a time when music could be both wildly experimental and unapologetically fun.

Contemporary reviews of Les Maledictus Sound are scarce, as the album was a niche release overshadowed by bigger 1968 landmarks like Sgt. Pepper or The White Album. Retrospective reviews, however, are glowing, if bemused. ProgArchives calls it “instrumental in ushering France into the brave new world of experimental and progressive rock,” while a Savage Saints blog review marvels at its “terrific mish-mosh of styles and studio effects.” Rate Your Music gives it a respectable 3.54/5, ranking it #501 among 1968 albums, with users praising its “phantasmagoric funk soundscape.” A Discogs commenter hailed it as “incredible and a bit crazy,” noting its early use of sampling.

The album’s legacy lies in its role as a trailblazer for experimental rock and its enduring appeal to crate-diggers and weirdos. It’s not a masterpiece in the traditional sense, but it’s a cult classic that rewards those willing to embrace its madness. Massiera’s later projects built on its blueprint, and his influence can be felt in the quirky, genre-defying music of the 1970s and beyond.

Les Maledictus Sound is a gloriously deranged artifact from a time when music dared to be weird, wild, and utterly unpredictable. Jean-Pierre Massiera, with his army of talented (and possibly bewildered) musicians, crafted an album that’s equal parts psychedelic pop, horror soundtrack, and lounge act gone rogue. It’s not for everyone—those chipmunk vocals and random screams might send some listeners running—but for those who love their music with a side of lunacy, it’s a revelation. André Ceccarelli’s drums, Paul Baile’s arrangements, and Massiera’s unhinged vision make it a one-of-a-kind experience, a record that feels like it was beamed in from a parallel universe.

So, fire up your turntable, dim the lights, and let Les Maledictus Sound take you on its warped journey. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself humming “Kriminal Theme” while wondering what kind of mind could dream up something this delightfully unhinged. Spoiler: it’s Jean-Pierre Massiera, and he’s probably still out there, cackling in a studio somewhere.

André Ceccarelli - 1976 - Rythmes

André Ceccarelli

1976

Rythmes

A01. Panier A Crabes 0:45

A02. Regis Song 1:23

A03. Funk No. 3 0:59

A04. Dindou No. 1 1:13

A05. 4eme Gauche 2:13

A06. Magasins D'usines 1:22

A07. Bossa For My Eet 1:42

A08. Funk No. 4 1:07

A09. Beautiful Country 2:31

A10. Gang Progress 2:06

B01. Papa Song 1:04

B02. Funk No. 2 1:18

B03. Funk No. 1 1:30

B04. X 2:40

B05. Stock No. 1 1:25

B06. Samba For D 0:40

B07. For D 0:40

B08. Dindou No. 2 0:37

B09. Boxing No. 1 1:23

B10. Punctuations No. 1 0:08

B11. Punctuations No. 2 0:08

B12. Punctuations No. 3 0:04

B13. Punctuations No. 4 0:03

B14. Punctuations No. 5 0:03

B15. D D No. 1 1:00

B16. D D No. 2 1:26

B17. D D No. 3 2:53

B18. D D No. 4 1:47

B19. Punctuations No. 6 0:06

B20. Punctuations No. 7 0:10

B21. Punctuations No. 8 0:10

B22. Punctuations No. 9 0:10

André Ceccarelli’s 1976 album Rythmes is a curious artifact from the jazz fusion heyday, a record that swings between sophisticated virtuosity and the kind of unbridled enthusiasm that makes you wonder if the band was fueled by espresso, ambition, or something a bit stronger. Released on the French label Disques JMS (catalog JMS 028), this album captures Ceccarelli, a drummer of formidable skill, leading a crack ensemble through a set of compositions that blend jazz, funk, and a touch of progressive rock with a distinctly European flair. It’s not a landmark in the way Weather Report’s Heavy Weather or Herbie Hancock’s Head Hunters redefined the genre, but it’s a fascinating snapshot of a moment when jazz fusion was stretching its legs, occasionally tripping over its own ambition. In this scholarly yet accessible analysis, I’ll dissect Rythmes, offer a review of its musical and cultural significance, provide a brief biography of André Ceccarelli, and contextualize the album within the 1970s jazz fusion landscape. Expect a dash of wit and irony, as befits a record that seems to wink at its own exuberance.

André “Dédé” Ceccarelli, born in 1946 in Nice, France, is one of Europe’s most respected jazz drummers, a versatile musician whose career spans over six decades and countless genres. Trained in classical percussion before falling for jazz as a teenager, Ceccarelli cut his teeth in the 1960s playing with French jazz luminaries like Martial Solal and American expats like Dexter Gordon. By the 1970s, he was a go-to session player, backing everyone from pop star Claude Morgan to avant-garde saxophonist Anthony Braxton. His work with fusion outfits like Troc and his own trios showcased his ability to blend technical precision with groove, earning him a reputation as a drummer who could make complex time signatures feel as natural as a heartbeat.

Ceccarelli’s leadership on Rythmes came at a time when he was transitioning from sideman to bandleader, a move that allowed him to flex his compositional muscles and surround himself with top-tier players. One gets the sense that Ceccarelli, ever the professional, approached this project with a mix of seriousness and glee, like a chef who’s finally been given the keys to the kitchen and decides to throw in every spice on the rack. His later career saw him return to straighter jazz, collaborate with vocalists like Dee Dee Bridgewater, and mentor younger musicians, cementing his status as a French jazz institution. But in 1976, he was a man on a mission to make fusion fun, and Rythmes is the result.

The mid-1970s were a high-water mark for jazz fusion, a genre born in the late 1960s when Miles Davis decided to plug in his trumpet and invite rock and funk to the jazz party. By 1976, fusion was a global phenomenon, with American bands like Weather Report and Return to Forever setting the pace, while European artists like France’s Magma and the UK’s Soft Machine added their own idiosyncratic spins. In France, the jazz scene was thriving, fueled by a mix of homegrown talent and American influences, with Paris as a hub for experimentation. The country’s proximity to African and Caribbean musical traditions also gave French fusion a unique rhythmic palette, distinct from its American counterparts.

This was also a time of cultural and political flux in France. The post-1968 spirit of rebellion lingered, and while the country wasn’t under a military dictatorship like Brazil, there was a sense of restlessness in the air. Jazz fusion, with its blend of intellectual rigor and visceral energy, appealed to a generation that wanted music to be both cerebral and danceable. Ceccarelli, with his jazz background and arranger’s ear, was well-positioned to tap into this zeitgeist, creating music that was global in scope yet unmistakably French in its elegance. One might imagine him in a smoky Parisian studio, nodding approvingly as his band pushed the groove to the edge of chaos, all while maintaining that Gallic poise.

Rythmes is a six-track, 38-minute journey that showcases Ceccarelli’s drumming prowess and his knack for assembling a killer band. The lineup includes heavyweights like keyboardist Claude Morgan, bassist Tony Bonfils, guitarist Pierre Cullaz, and saxophonist André Villeger, with additional percussion and brass adding texture. The album’s title, French for “rhythms,” is both a promise and a warning: this is a record obsessed with pulse, groove, and syncopation, sometimes to a fault. It’s a product of its time, drenched in the electric piano shimmer and wah-wah guitar of 1970s fusion, but it’s also a testament to Ceccarelli’s ability to make the complex sound effortless.

The album’s sound is rooted in jazz fusion’s core ingredients: intricate rhythms, improvisational solos, and a funk-inflected groove. Ceccarelli’s drumming is the star, driving the music with a blend of precision and flair that recalls Tony Williams and Billy Cobham but with a lighter, more playful touch. Morgan’s Fender Rhodes and synthesizers provide a lush, atmospheric backdrop, while Bonfils’s bass lays down thick, elastic lines that keep the music grounded. Cullaz’s guitar adds gritty, rock-inspired edges, and Villeger’s saxophone weaves melodic threads through the dense arrangements.

Stylistically, Rythmes is a melting pot of jazz, funk, and progressive rock, with occasional nods to Latin and African rhythms. Tracks like “Rythmes” and “Pulsions” lean into funk-jazz territory, with tight, danceable grooves and extended solos. Others, like “Soleil,” flirt with proggy complexity, featuring odd time signatures and layered textures. The production, overseen by Jean-Marc Soussan, is crisp and dynamic, capturing the band’s live energy while maintaining studio polish. It’s the kind of album that sounds like it was recorded in one take, with the musicians grinning at each other as they nail a particularly tricky passage.

“Rythmes” (6:52): The title track is a bold opener, a funk-jazz workout that puts Ceccarelli’s drumming front and center. His polyrhythmic patterns dance around Bonfils’s bass groove, while Morgan’s Rhodes lays down a shimmering chord progression. Villeger’s sax solo is fiery but controlled, like a man shouting politely. It’s a track that says, “We’re here to groove, but we’re also going to make you think,” and it sets the tone for the album’s blend of brains and brawn. One can almost hear Ceccarelli chuckling as he tosses in an extra snare hit just to keep everyone on their toes.

“Pulsions” (7:14): This is the album’s funkiest moment, with a bassline so infectious it could make a statue dance. Cullaz’s wah-wah guitar adds a touch of Shaft-era swagger, while Ceccarelli’s syncopated fills push the tempo to the brink. The track builds to a frenetic climax, with Morgan’s synth solo spiraling into the stratosphere. It’s a bit over-the-top, like a fusion band trying to audition for a blaxploitation soundtrack, but it’s undeniably fun.

“Soleil” (8:03): The longest track, “Soleil” is where things get ambitious—and a little weird. It starts with a dreamy, almost pastoral intro, with Morgan’s Rhodes evoking a sunrise. Then, true to fusion form, it shifts gears into a complex, odd-metered section that feels like a chase scene in a prog-rock 

opera. Ceccarelli’s drumming here is masterful, navigating the shifts with ease, but the track’s length and density might test the patience of listeners who prefer their jazz with less pomp. It’s as if the band decided to cram an entire Mahavishnu Orchestra album into one song.

“Vagues” (5:45): A more restrained moment, “Vagues” (French for “waves”) has a lyrical, almost bossa nova-like quality, with Villeger’s soprano sax floating over a gentle groove. It’s a welcome breather after the intensity of the earlier tracks, though it risks slipping into background music territory. Still, Ceccarelli’s subtle brushwork is a reminder of his versatility, proving he can whisper as well as shout.

Rythmes shines in its musicianship and energy. Ceccarelli’s drumming is a constant delight, blending technical wizardry with an infectious sense of joy. The band’s interplay is tight, with each player given room to shine, and the production is top-notch, capturing the era’s fusion aesthetic without sounding dated. The album’s eclecticism—drawing from jazz, funk, rock, and beyond—is a strength, reflecting the genre’s boundary-pushing spirit.

However, the album isn’t without flaws. Its relentless focus on rhythm can feel one-dimensional, as if the band forgot to write melodies that stick. Some tracks, like “Soleil,” suffer from fusion’s tendency toward self-indulgence, stretching ideas past their breaking point. The vocal harmonies, used sparingly, are more distracting than enhancing, sounding like an afterthought from a band that didn’t quite know what to do with singers. And while the album’s energy is infectious, it can be exhausting, like a friend who’s just a bit too enthusiastic at a party. As one obscure blog review noted, it’s “a drummer’s album through and through, for better or worse.”

Rythmes sits comfortably within the 1970s jazz fusion canon, though it lacks the iconic status of albums by American heavyweights. Its significance lies in its distinctly European perspective, blending French jazz’s melodic sophistication with the raw energy of American fusion. The album reflects the era’s obsession with cross-cultural exchange, as European musicians absorbed influences from the U.S., Africa, and Latin America, then filtered them through their own lens. Ceccarelli’s leadership here also marks him as a key figure in French jazz, a drummer who could hold his own against the likes of Billy Cobham while adding a touch of continental charm.

The album’s rarity—original vinyl copies are scarce and fetch high prices on collector’s markets—has given it a cult status among fusion enthusiasts. Its influence can be heard in later French fusion acts like Sixun and in the work of drummers who admired Ceccarelli’s blend of groove and finesse. For scholars and collectors, Rythmes is a reminder of fusion’s global reach, a French dispatch from a time when jazz was as much about innovation as it was about excess.

Contemporary reviews of Rythmes are hard to come by, as the album flew under the radar compared to bigger fusion releases of 1976. Retrospective reviews, mostly from niche jazz blogs and collector forums, praise its energy and Ceccarelli’s drumming but note its lack of memorable melodies. A Discogs user called it “a hidden gem for fusion heads,” while a French jazz site described it as “a rhythmic tour de force that doesn’t always know where it’s going.” The album’s reissue on CD in the 1990s and its availability on streaming platforms have helped it find a new audience, though it remains a deep cut even among fusion aficionados.

Its legacy lies in its role as a showcase for Ceccarelli’s talents and a document of French fusion’s brief but vibrant moment. It’s not a game-changer like Bitches Brew, but it’s a solid entry in the genre, with enough quirks to keep it interesting. For fans of 1970s jazz fusion, it’s a must-listen, if only to hear Ceccarelli and company go for broke.

André Ceccarelli’s Rythmes is a wild, occasionally unwieldy ride through the heart of 1970s jazz fusion. It’s a drummer’s album, unapologetically rhythmic and brimming with energy, led by a musician who knows how to make complexity feel like a party. Ceccarelli’s virtuosity, paired with a stellar band and crisp production, makes Rythmes a joy to listen to, even if its ambition sometimes outpaces its focus. It’s not the first fusion album you’d reach for, but it’s a rewarding detour for those willing to explore the genre’s lesser-known corners.

So, cue up Rythmes on your turntable or streaming service, and let Ceccarelli’s grooves wash over you. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself tapping your foot, nodding in admiration, and occasionally raising an eyebrow at the sheer audacity of it all. In the end, that’s what makes Rythmes so endearing—a snapshot of a drummer who dared to dream big, even if his dreams occasionally got a bit too funky for their own good.