In 2001 Toma Feterman, a French ex-punk with Polish/Jewish/Romanian background set the caravan in motion. The multi-talented, linguistic genius gathered four crazy and just as talented French musicians for a project that was more than just an ordinary band: an acoustic machinery for his symphony of language; a cross between Rock, Dub, Hip Hop and Chanson strongly spiced with Balkan flavour. A weird bunch of thunderstruck cossacks around mastermind Toma Feterman (aka John Lenine of Soviet Suprem), now heading to new destinations. From the imaginary village Pléchti in the outbacks of eastern Europe to the empty promises of the metropolitan suburbs of this very continent. Telling the story of our inner abandoned nomad souls. Stamping heartbeats underlay the flying desire of the hornsets. Flashy colours of a fairground crossed by bleeps of nervous klaxons. Opening a clear view on nowadays erratic promises. The earthly consolation of another quick drink in front of the appeasing barmaid. Trainless rails full of lost wandering people. Fences. A cognizant sound of some arrival in the fog of some dancing dreams. Singing, grating, Toma Feterman’s voice reveales his double nature between La Vie Parisienne and his Soviet soul, whilst Olivier Llugs throws fiery catalan gypsy passion into his trombone play. The exact riffs by the horns of Cyril Moret match the rhythm engine driven by Pat Gigeon and Ben Body pushing the dancing crowd onwards.