Thirty-three year-old Peter, Swedish by his mother and German by his father,arrived in France in 1998. A musician in search of adventure, he quickly hooked up with Bertrand Burgalat, who hired him to play guitar in a determinedly left-of-centre boy band which Burgalat was putting together to serve the various needs of his Tricatel label. Encouraged by Burgalat, he composed and wrote, giving himself time to mature and to let his style settle, making serious work friendships along the way thanks in no small part to his happy nature.
So let’s keep fans of loud sounds and high tuning at a distance, because Peter von Poehl’s first album isn’t loud-mouthed. Not that its high ambition in composing and arranging isn’t unmistakable. Between folk ballads and pocket symphonies basking in boreal luminosity, a slow pulse or a wistful heart, the 12 songs (and a
hilarious appendix) form an album throbbing with so many shapes and colors, several listenings are recommended to grasp its full effect.