Solal pushes his trio into unfamiliar territory, layering effects and studio tricks onto straightforward jazz fundamentals.
Martial Solal brought Gilbert "Bibi" Rovère and Charles "Lolo" Bellonzi into the studio in 1966 to chase something he'd been thinking about: what happens when you treat the piano not as a given, but as raw material to be colored and distorted. The album's title says it plainly — electrodes, wires, signal processing. This wasn't academic or cold. Solal wanted to hear what his trio sounded like when filtered through a different kind of machinery.
The results sit awkwardly between curiosity and coherence. Some tracks work because the effects serve the melody; others feel like Solal testing how far he can push things before the music breaks. Rovère's bass keeps its warmth throughout, anchoring whatever Solal does overhead. Bellonzi's percussion stays loose and reactive, never locked into time, which actually helps — when the piano gets strange, the drums refuse to tighten up in response. There's a willingness to fail here that matters more than consistent success.
This is a minor record in Solal's catalog, worth hearing if you're curious about early studio experimentation in European jazz, but not essential. It's too deliberately uncomfortable to be a gateway in. Start with something like Martial Solal Plays Duke Ellington (1963) to understand what this trio could do cleanly, then come back to Electrodes to see what Solal was restless about.