Micro et macro musique, implosion et explosion, voyage intérieur et périple extra-planétaire, autant d’influence moussorgskienne que pinkfloydienne, la musique qu’a composée Robert Marcel Lepage pour le très beau film de Pierre Hébert, La Plante humaine, célèbre d’abord et avant tout le pouvoir évocateur des contrastes.

Cette trame musicale agit telle une extension du film et de ses images mais contient en elle-même des pièces qui «extensionnent» le propos, le contenu, la forme, l’une de l’autre. En deux mots, Robert Marcel Lepage a de la suite dans les idées. La stridence d’un violoncelle amène à celle d’une guitare hard rock; l’expérimentation se marie à la mélodie; le bruit prolonge l’harmonie. À cet égard, le mariage Lepage-Claude Beaugrand, magnifique concepteur sonore s’il en est un déjà remarqué dans le film Les Pots cassés de François Bouvier, continue de donner des fruits savoureux. Car le jeu et l’humour de Lepage ne se cachent jamais loin derrière le mystère, la peur ou la colère qu’il sait susciter en musique.

Aidé en cela par un big band actuel magistral, dont l’inimitable Pierre Tanguay, maître des baguettes qui peut soutenir n’importe quelle orchestration, qu’elle privilégie les cordes pincées ou frottées comme dans la magnifique pièce La Poursuite du sens. Seul hic, la durée de ces morceaux de choix. Le cinéma veut du court et varié. On aurait aimé voir se prolonger Gog et Magog, Babel et Vous devez trouver le temps long? … Non, M. Lepage, on en redemande.

Michel F Côté, Quebec’s most eclectic percussionist, had decided to put his Bruire ensemble on hold after three records on Ambiances Magnétiques to form a new band. This time, he proposed a trio with Bernard Falaise (Miriodor, Les Projectionnistes) on guitar and Alexandre St-Onge on bass. Klaxon Gueule (something like “Yelling Horn”) was at first a talkative trio — after all, it is the title of their album (Bavards). The first disc of this short 2-CD set contains twelve improvisations titled humorously (Aptitude algébrique innée equals “Innate Algebraic Aptitude,” Friandise cannibale equals “Cannibal Candy”). To the nervous drums of Côté and the busy bass of St-Onge, Falaise adds noisy textures with sharp angles, creating an electric, noisy free jazz. The second CD showcases Klaxon Gueule with saxophonist Christopher Cauley on six quartet improvs. Here, the music is more in the orthodox free improvisation realm. The contagious energy of the musicians make Bavards a real treat. This was recorded at a time when St-Onge still approached the bass in a conventional way and the trio played jazz-anchored improv. The situation would change drastically with their second CD, eloquently titled Muets (“Silent”), an exploration of textural string-scratching, feedback-controlling free improv.

La vie qui bat: Chevreuil (“The Beating Life: Dear”) was released at the same time and on the same label as La vie qui bat: Chèvre, but the two could hardly be less alike (except for the fact that they both feature guitarist René Lussier and drummer Pierre Tanguay). While Chèvre contains dense and serious free improvisations with Lussier playing acoustic guitar, Chevreuil is mostly made of written songs and/or prepared improvisations with the same musician on anything but that instrument. It shows the clownish side of the duo, an approach strongly reminiscent of Lussier’s work with Jean Derome during the 1980s in Les Granules. When the pieces are not thoroughly written like Salade du Chef (“Chef’s Salad”), La toune dure (“The Tough Tune”), or La vie qui bat they are at least planned ahead. Of this latter category the best example is the suite Le Catalogue, made of very short improvs on predetermined animal-related themes. Other tracks like Le Chameau (“The Camel”) and L’Éléphant (“The Elephant”) follow the same path: humorous improvised impressions. Lussier favors the electric guitar and the daxophone. Written pieces are songs in a similar vein to what the Derome/Lussier duo recorded: dismembered, funny and never meant to be taken seriously. Vocals are an integrated part of the instrumentation, which is not the case on the other CD. This one feels like two friends kidding around — two very talented musicians-friends, that is. Those looking for engaging improvisation will be disappointed, but fans of Lussier’s lighter side will find La vie qui bat: Chevreuil a suitable follow-up to Les Granules’ Au royaume du silencieux.

The most interesting thing about this CD of mostly free improvisation is the opportunity it affords us to monitor the artists’ progress from 1984, when the first seven tracks were recorded, to 1996, when cuts 8 through 16 were laid down. In ’84, both Lussier and Lepage were well on their way to developing their own voices, though both were still manifestly groping. Lussier’s style was a mechanistic abstract-expressionism; his timbres were harsh, his lines jagged, his melodies and hammonies of little consequence given his extreme textural freedom. By ’96, the guitarist has his materials under control. The rough edges are leH that way purposely; they are no longer perceived as accidents. Lussier’s increased skills have given his work a more humane cast- ironic, perhaps, given this album’s stated intent, which is as a parody of our mechanized consumer society. Lepage’s development is similar. Where in ’84 he was searching — playing two saxes simultaneously, manipulating his tone and articulating in an extreme and sometimes clumsy manner — by’96 his chops are together. The harshness is leavened by a control that wasn’t there twelve years earlier. The mature Lepage concentrates on clarinet, upon which he has a comprehensive technique; hence, his lines are informed by a melodic sense that was far less pronounced on the earlier date. The duo benefits from the individual evolution of the piayers. Where, in the first recordings, the improvising moves in a more parallel direction — the players’limitations prohibit a more integrated, interactive perfommance — the later tracks are far more well-coordinated. The’84 cuts were made by a pair of talented students; the recent tracks by mature fine artists. Consequently, we have one-half of a very fine album — enough, I think, for me to recommend it.

Même accompagné, ce dernier excelle. En compagnie de Robert Marcel Lepage, il forme un duo — clarinette, saxophone et guitare — d’une «espece en voie d’exception», celle des folkloristes urbains. Echappant au conditionnement culturel, privilégiant le ludique et l’aléatoire, nos deux compères artisans «artbrutistes» se livrent à un étrange rituel mécaniste où des danses singulières aux titres énigmatiques sont â un train d’enfer les unes aux autres emboîtées. Le moins que l’on puisse dire est que René Lussier (il a entre autre enregistré avec Fred Frith, Jean Derome, Chris Cutler et son Trésor de la Langue reste une inépuisable source d’émerveillement) ne se prend pas au sérieux, préférant ne pas définir sa musique à l’humour décapant. Ou plutôt non. S’il devait la décrire, nul doute qu’il parlerait de «nouille-age woolworth best électroencaustique». Autant dire que ce pataphysicien mériterait d’être decoré de l’Ordre de la Grand Gidouille

Vous rêvez de découvrir un compositeur mélant dérision, inventivité et sens de l’orchestration. Vous êtes prêt a passer une petite annonce utopique pour trouver quelqu’un répondant à ce profil rare: un inclassable aux idées larges et au style unique. Vous alliez même engager un chasseur de têtes… êcoutez donc René Lussier. Il campe, sur la photo du livret CD, assis sur un banc à côté de son vélo, prêt â partir. Son sourire est malicieux et plein de sympathie. Fin du travail, c’est le titre de son premier album. C’est incroyable comme ses compositions faites de séquences et d’orchestres forment un monde cohérent, en dépit du nombre exponentiel d’idées qui traversent ce disque. Vous aimez Hugues le Bars, Albert Marcoeur, vous attendiez un renouveau chez Comelade, vous aimeriez que la musique contemporaine fuse en éclats de rire. Ecoutez René Lussier qui campe â côté de son vélo!