The Limiñanas – Faded
It’s no secret that psychedelic garage enthusiasts Lionel and Marie Limiñana are also big film buffs, each of their numerous previous albums a highly cinematic composition unafraid to reveal the seedy underbelly of Hollywood glamour. Having already explored real and pseudo soundtrack work, Faded pays tribute to the “forgotten women of the silver screen”, a loose concept that invites varied vocal contributors to create a “patchwork” on the theme. These are not homages though, rather “declarations of love” steeped in rose-tinted nostalgia. The bond between guest vocalists isn’t strong though and Faded is initially quite a passive experience, only fully blossoming when you pay attention to the on-screen detail – the vocal turns are unquestionably the star in this oeuvre, The Limiñanas’ trademark riffs and grooves still present, but stuck in the backseat of this drive-in show distractedly making out with each other for the whole feature.
Faded’s spotlight may be fixed on the femmes fatales of yesteryear, but it’s an album defined by movement and colour, panning audioscapes with truly travelling grooves. Even its romping instrumentals (intermissions) burst with swirling technicolour as some cactus-strewn badlands scroll and flicker through the mind’s eye. Organ-looped kosmische dominates, precise motorik and simmering synth oscillations transporting the listener to another time and space. The laidback drawl of Bobby Gillespie works the fuzzy garage of early highlight “Prisoner Of Beauty” up to an impassioned denouement, the catchy “J’Adore Le Monde”, featuring the poetic chanson of Bertrand Belin, next full of evocative whispers. Unpretentious pop, the blissful 60s psych of “Shout”, then pits the vocal talents of Rover against swooping synth and spidery surf guitar.
Pure French coquetry, the main thrust of Faded is seductive and glitzy however, Marie coming over all Jane Birkin on a sexy cover of the rhythmic standard “Louie Louie”, and then adopting a breath-takingly fragile guise on a version of Françoise Hardy’s “Où Va La Chance” – no doubt a timely tag-on after the iconic chanteuse’s passing just last summer. And it’s not just Marie fluttering her eyelids either, Anna Jean of Juniore is downright horny as she coos during “Catherine”, riding its guitar-chime peaks unashamedly and bathing in its thick, warm bass fuzz. Even Lionel gets suggestive and husky during the hushed back-and-forth “Tu Viens, Marie?” The good times never last though, and “Space Baby” torches the celluloid memory; “burn, baby, burn, baby, burn” frequent collaborator Pascal Comelade spits out, chattering electronics and phaser FX delivering a slice of cold, cosmic punk not unlike the withering work of Alan Vega/Martin Rev, a harsh reality dealt at too quick a speed to these feted, ageing starlets. It’s a warning to us all really; cherish your years in the sun, and Lionel and Marie are still basking, sunglasses on, in theirs.
Best track: “Prisoner Of Beauty”
~Faded is released February 21 2025 via Because Music.~