by Louise Marie Pothier
Julien and Hubert Chiasson, Remy Belanger, and Samuel Renaud. Remember those names. They are the four Quebecois teens who make up The Seasons. The boys’ ages added together wouldn’t equal mine, but the moment I stumbled upon their song “Apples,” and heard the line “It’s usually reckless/To write something we don’t mean,” I was sold.
It’s not every day that a group of French-speaking kids create an English-singing band and announce their intent to take over world, but when that day came, it caught my attention and I decided to listen. I adore the catchiness of their original tunes, and the innocence in their eyes makes it impossible for me to watch their videos without smiling. I mean, anyone who plays a toy glockenspiel in the woods is OK in my book. The Seasons aren’t exactly hipsters; I doubt they are even able to grow beards on their cute little cheeks. Rather, their music takes me back to memories of the sixties, when another wide-eyed, mop-topped quartet burst onto the scene, blissfully unaware of what the future held in store.
I gather from The Seasons quirky, twelve-liked Facebook posts and barely-watched Youtube videos that their marketing machine hasn’t quite taken off yet. But as they traipse from small Canadian towns to venues in Los Angeles and Paris to play before growing groups of screaming young fans, I expect they will soon be known to a much wider audience.
Julien and Hubert Chiasson, Remy Belanger, and Samuel Renaud. Remember those names. The music they play has got me suffering from Seasons-mania. I’d be listening even if Julien didn’t have those dimples.
Listen in this order:
Then listen to “Apples” again: