Accomplished at the end of some little panel of eternity, Orval Carlos Sibelius’ first self-titled record is a joke, and such for quite a number of reason. First and foremost, because this miraculous debut album is not really a debut album – Axel, who hides himself behind this mysterious alias, as if it didn’t really matter, used to electrify the hearts of the French underground a few years ago, using the Snark moniker.

Going up and against the streams of our time, Axel records on a plastic recorder, he likes to stretch his recording sessions over time (between the first brick and the last piece of tile, this one album took 5 years in the making), and he loves progressive rock. He is an eager musicophage, who belongs to that little group of people who likes to spend time deciphering the mathematic melancholy of Robert Wyatt (and also belongs to that even smaller group of those who actually know what the latter is about), the eager passion for the raw gold of ELO, early Yes or Genesis material, the tempi craze of math rock. Constant interferer of line spaces, he also likes to fill up his sweet and complex, songs, foliated with unexpected surprises of truncated bars, with non-western clutter, resonances of weird strings and sun lit bazaar. And he always stands, hand in hand, next to his unblinking doppelganger, the actual Orval Carlos. Superb and cool-headed, virtuoso, amazing lover, he is his permanent skyline, his musicianship ideal, his dream of a composer, dream of a musician; he is also the one to which he can attribute the words "I wanted to revisit the melancholic harmonies of the old masterpieces of Yes or Genesis, which have deeply marked me when I was a teenager".