The church of St. Roman looms over the village of Raron like a hilltop castle—an intimate, focused refuge from the times. Le Pot—Manuel Mengis (trumpet), Hans-Peter Pfammatter (piano, keyboards), Lionel Friedli (drums), and Manuel Troller (guitar)—spent four days in this church recording their new album Hera. The location was no accident. Fragments of Benjamin Britten’s music serve as the point of departure: a melody from “Requiem aeternam,” themes from The Beggar’s Opera, a song from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The resulting sound is mystical, timeless, and dreamlike—never esoteric or naïve. There is a darker undercurrent to Britten’s world: gears that crunch and refuse to mesh, a tonal center that blurs and slips from major to minor. “Music has the beauty of loneliness and pain,” he once remarked. Le Pot use Britten’s melodies as a springboard, improvising their way into new territory. Hera… heaven… salvation? Perhaps. The band throws the church doors open and lets the worldly—avarice, anxiety, exuberance, lust—flood the sacred. Melodies unravel; rhythms mutate. Impressionistic textures dissolve in the acid bath of guitar or a searing keyboard, flickering into ominous collages and vivid tableaux vivants. Was that gunfire? A bold declaration of love? A crow’s caw? The group’s imagination is vast yet disciplined: a clear concept keeps eruptions in check while leaving ample space for spontaneity. At one point, the 500-year-old bells toll—nine soft rings—before the band resumes. After the electrified She, the mystical acoustic Hera is the second part of a trilogy that will culminate in Zade.