A triptych by Danielle Palardy Roger: three compositions for improvising ensemble, blending Early and contemporary music, composition and improvisation, direction and freedom, acoustics and electronics. Three 15-minute suites. The performers are the GGRIL in Rimouski, Ensemble SuperMusiue, and ECM+. Solid music who will not reveal all its codes on first listen. Roger is highly skillful with large-scale works (see her Bruiducœur), and this project matches her previous efforts in that vein.

A third opus for Montréal band Rouge Ciel, who could be called Miriodor’s little brother (no insult to either band). Bryologie carries on where Veuillez procéder had left, i.e. a more avant-rock attitude with bits of free improvisation, though retaining the complex instrumental avant-prog songwriting mixed in with Québécois musique actuelle. On first listen, I think I prefer this one over Veuillez procéder. Noteworthy: the dynamic Tess, which would make a great 3-minute radio single (not!), and the epic Jubilation protozoaire. Guido Del Fabbro’s electric/treated violin remains the focal point of the band’s sound.

I am in love with Joane Hétu’s music, and I have been for a long time. And out of all her projects, her winter trilogy is the most enjoyable, accessible and moving. I recently saw her latest stage production La Femme territoire, which probably signals a new step in her artistic evolution. So it feels a bit strange to back down two years for Récits de neige, the just-out last installment in said trilogy. Once again, the work takes us from December through March in four movements culling winter poems and anecdotes said by the musicians (Hétu, Jean Derome, Diane Labrosse, Pierre Tanguay, Scott Thomson, and Alexandre St-Onge). Four movements picturing the serenity of the first snowfalls, the anguish of the dead of winter, and the frenzy brought by the approach spring. This project highlights Hétu’s melodicism, and memorable tunes abound on Récits de neige. This record could be the best in the trilogy (although I just love Musique d’hiver). The fan in me is thrilled.

Musica che parla per immagini, giustamente definita altrove “cinematica” per il suo srotolarsi come un lento tappeto di immagini formalizzate in sequenze di suoni. La bulimia di immagini prodotta nelle nostre menti non necessita di ulteriori materiali di stimolo, le scorte sono in avanzo, basta qualche semplice ripescaggio. Nuova psichedelica? Potrebbe essere un cammino da percorrere. Niente effetti speciali, né droga, ma solamente le tossine cinematiche che ci portiamo dentro da anni. Chi la considera ambient sbaglia, poiché Mecha Fixes Clocks di Michel F Côté, sebbene utilizzi grammatiche molto simili alla musica di riempimento paesaggistico, lavora la materia in un cesello molto più minuzioso, specie nell’aggregare rimandi e disturbi. Si riescono così a produrre nella memoria di chi ascolta ripescaggi aleatori e assolutamente non vincolanti. Glissando wyattiani, fratture glitch, crepuscolarismi hollywoodiani e folklori senza patria. Quello di Côté, al pari di lavori come quelli nei Klaxon Gueule, appartiene più all’arte del montaggio e della decostruzione, piuttosto che alla creazione di per sé, sebbene poi, alla luce di quanto appena scritto, le due cose tendano inevitabilmente a sovrapporsi.

Trois hommes font remonter des souvenirs enfouis à la «subsurface» des choses. L’un est trompettiste (Nils Ostendorf), un autre est pianiste (Philip Zoubek) et le dernier est clarinettiste et saxophoniste (Philippe Lauzier). Ces trois hommes improvisent.

La référence au concret dont Ostendorf, Zoubek et Lauzier dispensent leur action instrumentale est repérable dans la façon qu’ils ont d’appeler les sept étapes qui la composent. Magnetic Hill, Calm City ou Slow Collapse sont des titres fiables pour parler de leur musique. Abstraite, cette musique peut accepter de chanter. Remplie de brisures, elle peut passer pour zen ou se laisser porter par les vents tel un mobile métallique.

C’est de cette manière qu’Ostendorf, Zoubek et Lauzier réussissent leur tour. Leurs dosages sont précis du début à la fin de leur rencontre, fin qui est cette Subsurface justement qui les force à sortir de leurs gonds, à dépareiller pour montrer que leur belle collaboration aurait pu tourner au drame mais ne l’a pas fait ne serait-ce qu’un instant.

Pierre Labbé est l’un de musiciens jazz les plus audacieux de la scène montréalaise. Avec ce Tremblement de fer, aux accents de funk avant-gardiste déjanté et dynamité, il nous offre son opus le plus emballant à date. Richter, sur son échelle, n’a qu’à bien se tenir!