Santa Plástica

Argentinian folk song has many modes reflecting the topographies and cultures whence it springs. The music of the French-based Caronni twins departs from the intimate, passionately intoned lullabies of the Andean north-west. This is most evident on ‘Coplita Para Mi Mama’, reversing the usual direction of singing from mother to child, on which a solo voice hovers over rippling percussion. When other instruments and musicians are allowed in – Gianna's klezmer-style clarinet, Laura's slow-bowed strings, or guest Erik Truffaz's noirish trumpet – there's no real layering, as if that might create obstacles to understanding. Consequently, there's something earnest as well as earthy about the sisters' finely polished, minimalist style, which never changes timbre dramatically, though the pace varies.

Theirs is a tangential, patient rejection of the ‘plastic saints’ of modernity as well as a muted, very un-Argentinian evocation of emotions, be they of loss or love. Singing in Spanish and French, they combine classical poise, a jazz introspection and the soul-searching of uprooted folk songbook explorers. Quoting Ravel, channelling Nino Rota, or punning on the formulae of tango maestro Piazzolla, their hybrid vision – which they call a ‘classidoscope’ – is totally original and very engaging.