When writing about Viktor Lazlo, the musical alias of Sonia Dronier, my mind began to think of parallels. I kept thinking of the soft, beautiful, Impressionistic paintings of yore. Paintings that appear delicate from afar but reveal a different textural depth the closer you get to each canvas. I say this because I sense sympathetic parallels within Viktor Lazlo’s Club Desert. In essence, no one can deny that Viktor is visually stunning. Yet, as one investigates, interrogates, her full body of work, one reveals a closer, longer-lasting profundity right in front of us.
Born to parents of Martiniquais and Grenadian descent, in Lorient, France, Sonia was this bright kid sent to the outskirts of Antwerp, Belgium, to study everything from German to Spanish, becoming a polyglot in six languages and one deeply interested in the performing arts. While others might struggle to find their way in a new land, Sonia took to music, singing in various little groups that went nowhere and modeling as a side hustle.
It was in the Brussels dance club scene that Sonia would make an impression on Plastic Bertrand producer, Francis Depryck, who’s attempts to pick her up were rebuffed. On her own terms, she told him to “fuck off”, stressing that she had more to offer as a singer, than a pair of legs. Then, shortly thereafter, discovered herself, parlaying her vocal talents into various gigs singing backup on songs by singers like Alain Chamfort and others in the Belgian pop scene.
When it came time to make her own music, Sonia took the advice of Francis and adopted a moniker that would best put across what she wanted to affect in her music. Inspired by Billie Holiday and Shirley Horn, and the hazy, husky, jazzy days of that monochrome past, Sonia would name herself Victor Lazlo, a play on the noble Casablanca character, famous for leading the Nazi resistance in the film. Somewhere, she stated she did so as a way to embrace her masculine side – one that was outwardly more brave, outgoing, and forthright than she really was. It was by casting Sonia with such a name, one that imported a more androgynous and mysterious brand, that allowed them the liberty to explore creatively and liberate her to become the face behind the music.
Grace Jones had given Viktor a touchstone to follow. Working with Thierry Mugler, she was outfitted with impeccable gowns and designs befitting an artist who looked like they wanted to trapeze the golden age of cinema and the high-end couture of the ‘80s. Unsurprisingly, when she released her debut in 1985, the appropriately titled She, Viktor would become an overnight success with songs like “Sweet, Soft N’ Lazy”, “Pleurer Des Rivières”, and “Canoë Rose” becoming continental hits.
You could argue that “Sweet, Soft N’ Lazy” would describe the archetypical sound of Viktor’s music at that moment. Much like Sade’s debut a year prior, this song presented a sophisticated European soul music that dug into the worlds of latin music, jazz, and AOR, that sounded positively like a breath of fresh air, in the hey-day of so much electronically-tinged New Wave and hair metal. So, in 1987, that year’s Eurovision contest would provide another opportunity to present Viktor’s evolution. Invited to be its host, Viktor would wow the audience, performing perhaps the best song of the night: “Breathless”.
Once again, donning a wonderful Mugler gown, Viktor sang a timeless song that hit on many new “grown” notes. It presented her range and a new-found marriage of her modal jazz with the more overtly, sexy, vibes of American urban music.
It would be 1987’s Breathless whose featured collaborative work with James Ingram, Toots Thielemans, Bunny DeBarge, and the Count Basie Orchestra presented brilliant mid tempo songs like the titular track, “You Are My Man”, and “Moonlight Parade” perfect for the ‘80s yuppie cocktail set but also for the more learned, sophisti-pop listener. Even if it didn’t make the crossover to America, Breathless had that kind of “it” quality (expressly in songs like, “Take Me“) whose appeal should have made Viktor a household name everywhere, like it would in Europe.
Yet, Viktor had grown tired of it all.
Tired of being thought of as a producer’s creation. Tired of the constant touring, photo and film shoots, and all of that limelight. Tired of the stagnation in her music, Viktor took a sabbatical. Viktor moved from Brussels to Paris. Viktor had a child, Maxime, and promised to come back only when she could decidedly stand behind all of the music.
So, in 1989, Viktor came back to music. Working with longtime Alain Bashung writer Boris Bergman, Sonia shifted her music, making it more nebulous and urgent. Brilliant musicians like Marc Moulin and Bernard Lavilliers lent their time and added new contours to her music. Touching more on the sounds of the Caribbean and the Mediterranean, for the first time, as a whole, I think her music sounded entirely timeless, fervent, and forward-thinking. Gone were the gowns…
Perhaps, it’s because you had songs on Club Désert like “Amour Puissance Six” (written by Serge Gainsbourg) that took advantage of Viktor’s fantastic vocal range to zero in on a decidedly more adventurous, edgy, tone. This was not your auntie’s quiet storm, for sure.
Perhaps, it’s because you have songs like “In The Midnight Sky” and “Premier Rôle” that spark with movement, taking cues from the burgeoning Euro-house scene. It’s Club Désert’s proto-Balearic leanings that elevate Viktor’s phrasing in a way that speaks better to the more melancholic tinges of her ideas. Songs like “Solo (Club Desert)” and “Le Grisbi” speak to the gorgeous laconic arrangements that luxuriate decadently within Viktor’s vocals.
What I love about Club Désert is that you can step back and simply enjoy this as impeccably-made mood music but as you listen closely, as you pay attention, this cocktail of music expresses a taste that shows you the real tincture of the mix. As the hemlines grow shorter, Viktor reveals more of what she wanted to show us. It’s something you hear palpably on songs like the mood-setting “La Cite”, a glorious bit of fiery Balearic balladry. Then you have gorgeous love songs like “Maxime” that speak to a certain kind of special love one can learn to sacrifice for and learn from.
Although future albums like Mes Poisons Délicieux and Verso would continue Viktor’s welcome renaissance of creativity, I feel like Club Désert remains that hidden oasis that still takes you somewhere unexpectedly, refreshingly, new.