THE LIMIÑANAS

THE LIMIÑANAS

“Can I have your autograph?” he asked the plump blonde actress. “You know, I know everything you’ve done,” sings Doug Yule on New Age by The Velvet Underground. A mix of love and violence aimed at an actress who spanned decades—a star now seen as faded.

This is the story behind The Limiñanas’ new album, which once again casts light on so-called fallen stars. Women who, from the 1950s to today, have vanished from the screen as if under a cruel spell—silenced by time itself. Devoted cinephiles, aware of the darkness beneath Hollywood’s glossy veneer, Lionel and Marie Limiñana wanted to pay tribute to them.

Without being overtly political, Faded is a hybrid narrative—part (bad) daydream, part tender metaphor—that plays out like the rich soundtrack to a rarely told tale. It brings together a host of collaborators: Bobby Gillespie (Primal Scream), Bertrand Belin, Rover, Anna Jean (Juniore), Penny, Jon Spencer… Each brings their own interpretation to the Fadedstory, creating what the Limiñanas describe as “an Italian patchwork,” where the pens of admired artists are given full expression. The album echoes—and responds to—Ronsard’s famous reflection on aging in “Mignonne, allons voir si la rose”: “Gather your youth, for like this flower, old age will tarnish your beauty.”

The result is a double album that opens with emotionally charged, multi-referential garage pop, before making room for moments of reflection and psychedelia—without ever losing its edge. This is unmistakably The Limiñanas’ sound. Marie Limiñana handles drums, percussion, and vocals (especially in a wild cover of Richard Berry’s Louie Louie). Lionel Limiñana brings in fuzz-laden guitars, bass, and keyboards. The winning duo remains the same, constantly evolving in message while staying true to their essence. In their Cabestany studio, they teamed up once again with longtime ally Pascal Comelade and David Menke, who also mixed the album.

Recent seasons have left The Limiñanas with little rest: three film scores in quick succession (Heureux Gagnants, Les règles de l’art, Tigres et hyènes), and the production of Pick-up by Brigitte Fontaine. Yet inspiration never runs dry. The pair continuously draw from the music that shaped them (above all, garage rock) and from a vivid cinematic universe—1960s Italian films, horror oddities like Poltergeist, and high-tension series like Monsters.

From the opening instrumental, Spirale, the listener is thrown into a garage-punk galaxy that is both raw and dreamlike. Tempos intensify with Bobby Gillespie on Prisoner of Beauty, and Bertrand Belin delivers an existential anthem, J’adore le monde: “off the mark, just beside it, not beneath, not just anywhere.” While Shout captures the raw essence of Rover, Faded spotlights Penny’s magnetic voice. The anti-heroine Catherine is imagined and embodied by Anna Jean. After the interlude The Dancer, the album reinvents Bernard Heidsieck’s poems (Tu viens Marie?, Autour de chez moi) and delivers two electric tracks in collaboration with Jon Spencer: Space Baby and Degenerate Star.

The album closes with a sublime version of Phil Ochs’ There but for Fortune, immortalized in France by Françoise Hardy as Où va la chance: “I see wounds / Never healed / I see the vagabond sleeping in the rain / And sometimes I think / When I fall asleep in someone’s arms / Where does luck go / To you, to me?” For Marie and Lionel Limiñana, luck lies in the rhythm of their hearts and the hum of their guitars—proclaiming that the cruelty of time is only an illusion, and that all art is eternal, no matter how deep the scars.