Valse De La Forêt by Fred Alban Et Son Orchestre: A Forgotten Gem That’ll Make You Go “Huh, Cool”
Alright, buckle up, because we’re diving into Valse De La Forêt, a 1969 French classical album that’s about as niche as your grandma’s embroidery collection. Released on the Vega label, this record is like finding an old postcard in a dusty drawer—quirky, charming, and kinda makes you wonder why no one talks about it more.
First off, let’s talk tracks. The titular piece, Valse De La Forêt (translation: "Waltz of the Forest"), feels like walking through a misty woodland at dawn. It’s got this dreamy vibe where the strings tiptoe around while the woodwinds whisper secrets to each other. Honestly, it sticks with me because it’s so unapologetically cinematic—you can almost picture some black-and-white French film playing in the background, full of smoldering glances and dramatic hand gestures. Like… who doesn’t want their life to feel like a vintage art house movie?
Then there’s Les Doigts S’Amusent ("The Fingers Are Having Fun"). This one’s just plain cheeky. The piano takes center stage here, bouncing along like it skipped its morning coffee but still decided to throw a party anyway. There’s something delightfully playful about how the melody dances around—it’s impossible not to crack a smile. If I ever write a memoir, this track is definitely going on the playlist for the chapter where I accidentally set my kitchen on fire trying to make toast. Oops.
Now, don’t get me wrong, the whole album isn’t all sunshine and baguettes. Some moments lean toward the “mildly sleepy” side of things, but hey, even that has its charm. Tracks like Sobre Las Olas (a cover of Juventino Rosas’ classic) bring a familiar warmth, like meeting an old friend who tells the same stories every time but somehow still makes you laugh.
What really gets me, though, is how Valse De La Forêt manages to feel both timeless and totally stuck in its era. Listening to it feels like stepping into a time capsule from 1969 France—a world of cigarette smoke, existentialism, and people wearing berets ironically before irony was cool. And yet, the music itself could slide seamlessly into a modern indie film or a moody TikTok montage. Weird flex, but okay.
So yeah, would I recommend this album? Absolutely—if you’re into lush orchestration, whimsical waltzes, and soundtracks for daydreaming. But fair warning: once you start humming along to Les Doigts S’Amusent, you might find yourself accidentally naming your cat after it. Not that I’d know anything about that…
Final thought: Fred Alban et Son Orchestre may have flown under the radar back in ’69, but maybe they were onto something. After all, sometimes the best treasures are the ones nobody remembers to look for. Now excuse me while I go practice my dramatic forest waltzing skills.
