Nostalgic au fond, originative in practice, Brahem's music this time is a transonic undertaking that weds original lineaments of Eastern music to piano, guitar, and accordion. Virtually cinematic in its assemblage, it communes with imagination's infinitude. As a writer and painter, I play it to summon the 9 daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne; all 9 if I can. Joining vehement forces with pianist Francois Couturier and accordionist (accomplice) Jean-Louis Matinier, Brahem has strained the piano and conquered yet a new dimension of timbres without straying from the celestial orbit of his North-African motifs. 'Le pas du chat noir' is perhaps an afternoon in Tunis, redolent of Moorish vestiges, array of Phoenician mosaics, and peppermint tea. 'De tout ton coeur' is charmingly Levantine, as if evoking an ancient journey to Carthage. 'Leila au pays du carrousel,''Un point bleu,' and 'C'est ailleurs' further attest to his renowned prowess as an Oud maestro. 'Toi qui sais' is cautiously unhurried; a mellow piece of contemporary instrumentality interjected by Brahem's Oud signature that never deviates from its intimate lieu, even during experimental moods. 'L'arbre qui voit' is a culmination swaying gently in the breeze; a tempo passed on to him by the movement of a tree he could see from his window, as he beautifully explains in the CD leaflet. It's a miscellanea of Oriental Jazz (a la Ziad Rahbani and Toufic Farroukh), laid-back Tango, Middle-Eastern lines that stir calligraphic visualizations, and stargazes. In league, his compositions manifest a musical/visual vision and aptitude he substantiates, unshared amongst his peers in world music. This production toppingly lends a flavour of momentous craftsmanship to an Anouar-Brahem already-treasured collection.