At the end of the 19th century, Claude Debussy declared "When you can't travel, the imagination takes over", and it is true that his works give us a sense of change of scenery and exoticism. I have not yet had the opportunity to visit Georgia, where a very dear friend lives, to whom this new composition is naturally dedicated. Rollin in Georgia is intended to be a peaceful journey through the regions of the country, between mountains and ocean, an imaginary story of city life and encounters along the way. It is a jumble of these memories made in the form of colorful landscapes, fruits of voluptuous vegetation, and the lively expression of an untamable, even inalienable, fauna. Memories honored by gifts exchanged as a token of friendship, generously embellished with the flavor of meals shared with someone who has nothing but knows that the earth gives so much. Memories reddened by bursts of laughter by the fire and sometimes wet with tears at the threshold of homes, the backpack put back on the shoulder when the time comes to leave, memories forgetful of the drops of sweat released when climbing steep ochre canyons. Evanescent memories, shivers of freshness appear through these icy pearls at the foot of waterfalls as well as overhanging torrents. Memories of a gentle, serene progression, with sure steps and slow steps. Feverish memories when the storm rumbles or lightning flashes. Memories invaded by the intoxicating scent of petrichor when the rain ceases, won over by the nascent warmth of dawn, relieved of the old concerns of these walkers savoring their ephemeral rests, lying stretched out on the warm stone facing the setting sun. Memories bathed in the last rays of the sky, chiaroscuro reflections between the peaks of the rocky spurs bristling with heroic centenarian trees, eternal guardians of a Hermitage for the high-altitude flora. Souvenir photos of an unusual totem made of pebbles torn from their site, piled up hastily without faith or reason, a soulless building erected by a presumptuous walker who is not content to trample nature; he wants to leave his mark. It will be said later that man believed he had conquered nature. Memories turned towards the most distant past of the World, this fossil radiation projected on an immense canvas dotted with stars and galaxies, before us plays a magical broom of cirrus clouds unfolding pink and blue streaks; their ethereal vapors are stretched by air currents, over time, they weave the thread of universal history. Memories to be carefully recorded in a travel diary reporting text, sketches and notes, abandoning all materiality. Memories to share with ardor with those we love, true traveling companions in action as in its story.more

Be careful, the weather is moving strangely, the wise Zephir could become the tumultuous Mistral.more

This essential theme by Erroll Garner was composed on the plane that brought the composer home after his interview with lyricist Steve Allen. The melody was already running through his head as he boarded, then the notes merged together as soon as the plane climbed. Erroll Garner played it tirelessly on KRML radio (in the city of Carmel) where he was a permanent guest. The song has been covered countless times, orchestrated with violins, guitars, choirs or saxophones, quickly becoming a jazz standard. The song was originally written in E flat, it is here transposed into the brighter key of G major in a jazz piano arrangement.more