Mama Rosin, St Moritz Club

What do you imagine a Swiss Cajun/Zydeco trio would sound like? It’s not a question that’s easy to navigate without slipping into the politically incorrect quicksand of racial or cultural stereotyping. So it gives me great pleasure to report that any narrow-minded assumptions I may have had in that department were instantly confounded by the reality of the life-affirming racket made by these three young men from Geneva as they rocked the basement bar of the St Moritz Club in Wardour Street.

The first clue that this was my kind of band was the cover of their second and most recent album, Brule Lentement. Its design is a cheeky nod to The Velvet Underground and Nico with Warhol’s phallic banana replaced by a red chilli. Then when their music didn’t bear the usual tediously predictable signs of a band steeped in the Velvets (droll, deadpan vocals, languid “Sunday Morning” chords) but instead was a more tangential and original response to the VU’s visceral energy, rawness and timelessness, my conversion was complete. This band’s greatest influence was not a single band or performer, it was a whole genre.

Cajun music itself dates back to 18th century Louisiana. Then Afro-Caribbean styles and rhythms brought about its gradual metamorphosis into Zydeco in the 19th century. Eventually rock n roll, blues and soul also became incorporated and this is where Mama Rosin come in. The band use all the traditional instruments such as melodeon, banjo, guitar and rub-board, but they do so with the barely contained energy and overflowing passion of the early Clash, but minus the anger and nihilism. There’s even something of the Woody Guthrie-era Joe Strummer about lead singer, guitarist and banjo player, Robin Girod. As the band leap into their first number, “When the Police Came,” his unruly mop of hair seems to be enjoying the music even more than he is, bouncing around buoyantly like Animal from the Muppets above his long, equine face.

Then when Girod swaps guitar for banjo and begins soloing, I’m aware for the first time that a banjo cranked-up to the edge of distortion can be a formidable aural assault weapon; a myriad of metallic notes fly off like white hot sparks from a blacksmith’s anvil. Should he really be allowed to play like this in such a confined space? Because this narrow, low-ceilinged venue was absolutely packed, and the majority of the audience were dancing as energetically as is possible, given the fact they barely have room to move at all. At one point Girod braves the dense crowd, walking out amongst them with his rub-board worn like a gladiator’s breast plate, scratching out a counter-rhythm to Xavier Bray’s machine-hammer drumming.

Another high point (as if there were any low points) was the tornado of a song that is "Le Two-step de L'haricot" in which melodeon player Cyril Yeterian employs his uniquely strained, yet still bizarrely appealing lead vocals. The song seems to be about nothing more than the fact that the aforementioned haricot beans aren’t salted. But that doesn’t stop Mama Rosin delivery it as if this lack of seasoning heralds the end of the world as we know it.  But to return for a moment to both the Clash and the quicksand of political correctness: There were many sceptics in the early days regarding the right of those Shepherd’s Bush rockers to dabble in reggae, jazz or ska, but then London Calling ended up being hailed as one of the greatest rock albums of all time.  So I can only hope that this red hot band have a similar fate in store. They return to the UK in July, so don’t miss them.

As a footnote to all this, neither the band nor their manager had any idea that the venue they had booked into was situated below a Swiss restaurant. So did they eat there before the gig? No, apparently it was too expensive, so they never got to sample “Swiss fondue heaven.”

Watch Mama Rosin larking about on the Clash-go-Zydeco 'Le Pistolet':