Album Review: Loulou Grand Fou by Katapulse
If you’re into jazz with a twist of something unexpected, Loulou Grand Fou by Katapulse is worth your time. This French fusion gem feels like a late-night jam session where everyone’s vibing so hard they forget the rules. Released under Not On Label, it’s got that raw, unfiltered charm that makes you wonder why more albums aren’t made this way.
The lineup is stacked—Yves Gerbelot flexes his sax skills on alto, baritone, sopranino, and probably any other saxophone he could find lying around. Then there’s Paul Cuttat holding down the double bass like a boss, Claude Gastaldin rocking both drums and tabla (how does one person even do that?), and Lionel Melot weaving magic on piano and keyboards. Together, they create this wild yet cohesive sound that feels like jazz but also… not quite? That’s the beauty of fusion, right?
Now let me tell ya about two tracks that stuck in my head. First up, “Flora.” It starts off all mellow, like someone lazily sketching shapes in the sand, but then BOOM—it kicks into gear with these punchy sax lines and groovy tabla beats. You can almost picture Yves going full mad scientist on his sax while Claude keeps things grounded with those intricate rhythms. The mix of chaos and control is just chef’s kiss.
Then there’s “Paulo’s Tempo,” which might as well be renamed “Earworm Central.” The track has this infectious bassline from Paul Cuttat that sneaks up on you and refuses to leave. Every time I hear it, I wanna grab a pair of drumsticks or maybe even dance awkwardly in my living room. Lionel’s keyboard work adds this dreamy layer that floats above everything else, tying the whole thing together. Honestly, it’s the kind of song that makes you wish you were part of the band just for a day.
Other standouts include “Méli Mélo” (a chaotic masterpiece) and “Mon Nom Est Personne” (which sounds like the soundtrack to an indie film you didn’t know you needed). But really, every track brings its own flavor to the table.
Here’s the thing about Loulou Grand Fou: it doesn’t try too hard to impress you. Instead, it lets the music speak for itself, warts and all. And somehow, that makes it feel real. Like, yeah, we’re human—we mess up, we experiment, and sometimes we nail it.
Final thought? Listening to this album feels like walking into a cozy café in Paris, only to realize halfway through that the musicians are secretly wizards. Or maybe magicians? Either way, it’s enchanting. Now excuse me while I go figure out how to play “Flora” on kazoo.
