Maxime Corbeil-Perron and Félix-Antoine Morin have released an intriguing new 12” with Ambiances Magnétiques: Political Ritual. The record presents two 20-minute pieces that work more like ‘sound sculptures’ than songs. They take as their subject the detritus of sound, the unwanted buzzes and resonances of technology. On Political Ritual, these sounds move out of the corners and rubbish bins and into plain sight. You are made to confront sound as it really is: caked in surface noise and sonic debris.

Political Ritual is a record of two halves. The first, ‘Cérémonie’, judders like a truck over bumpy terrain. There are moments of what sounds like hyper-engineered studio-production trickery. But in fact, many of these are from acoustic sources, like cellos and organs played in unorthodox styles. There is even the introduction of “a wedding harmonium bought from an old man in an Indian village”.

The unanswered questions left by ‘Cérémonie’ are concluded by the record’s second half: ‘Projection cathodique’. Here, elements of traditional ‘musicality’ creep in, like the bassline that broods over the piece. The ‘politics’ of Political Ritual remain somewhat unclear, but its ambiguity is addictive.

Duo formé des électroacousticiens montréalais Félix-Antoine Morin et Maxime Corbeil-Perron, Political Ritual crée des ambiances dont il est peut-être préférable de faire l’expérience en concert, à moins d’avoir des voisins compréhensifs… C’est une musique dense, qui se développe par couches, en construisant des espaces gigantesques, et, comme le disent ses concepteurs: «La seule cause qui importe est celle de mettre le volume à fond». Évidemment, ils ne sont pas les premiers à faire cette recommandation, mais leur musique, toute en textures et large comme un paquebot, bénéficie que l’on porte attention à ce détail. Conçu dans une période «de deuil, d’abus de substances [et] d’inquiétudes géopolitiques», le résultat est assez noir, comme le vinyle qui le supporte.

Le coup de foudre est survenu en 2016, dans la petite salle du MAC lors du festival Mutek Montréal. Le duo expérimental composé de Félix-Antoine Morin et Maxime Corbeil-Perron avait littéralement fait trembler les fondations du musée; c’était un moment d’une grande intensité. Jusqu’à tout récemment, c’était malheureusement le seul contact que j’avais eu la chance d’avoir avec Political Ritual. Ce bon souvenir est resté gravé dans ma mémoire, mais les deux musiciens n’avaient jamais recroisé mon chemin par la suite.

Ce temps est maintenant révolu puisque devant moi se trouve leur toute nouvelle offrande. Un magnifique vinyle éponyme proposant deux imposantes pièces de plus de vingt minutes. Forgés sur fond de deuil, d’abus et d’inquiétude, ces deux rituels nous promettent un voyage déstabilisant en territoire hostile. La marche à suivre est simple: montez le volume adéquatement, installez-vous confortablement et laissez les décibels vous percuter de plein fouet.

1. Cérémonie

Si les premières minutes de ce morceau ne vous écrasent pas dans votre siège, c’est parce que vous avez commis une première erreur. Le volume doit obligatoirement être monté d’un cran, car il vous faut entendre les notes siffler comme de violentes rafales de vent. Lorsque vous aurez le sentiment d’être égaré au beau milieu d’un tourbillon sonore, vous comprendrez que vous avez fait le bon choix. Ces bourrasques seront votre moyen de transport pour accéder à l’univers chaotique du duo montréalais. Vous comprendrez rapidement que cette improvisation raconte un récit déconcertant, c’est la trame sonore de quelque chose qui nous surpasse.

J’ai perçu Cérémonie comme une histoire où chaque instrument représente un personnage, tous plus tourmentés les uns que les autres. Ils m’apparaissaient brisés et éraillés, tout comme les outils de créations utilisés pour la confection de cette œuvre écrasante. Félix-Antoine et Maxime y ont déversé leurs tripes, il s’agit ici de l’une des musiques les plus inspirées que j’ai eu la chance de mettre sur ma platine. Chaque écoute vous replongera d’une manière différente dans cette troublante narration, le potentiel de réécoute est littéralement infini tellement ce qui se rend à notre cerveau est étoffé. C’est l’album de prédilection pour déconnecter du triste monde auquel nous sommes condamné·e·s.

2. Projection cathodique

Cette deuxième entité sonore se matérialise comme un long couloir dans lequel nous sommes forcé·e·s d’avancer. C’est une composition caverneuse qui nous ensorcelle avec une multitude de bruits d’ambiance accaparant le spectre auditif. Une fois bien submergé·e·s dans ce gouffre musical, nous réalisons qu’il sera impossible de faire marche arrière. La progression est tout simplement impressionnante, les couches se multiplient avec une délicatesse déstabilisante. Nous ne sommes définitivement plus en contrôle de notre corps et de notre esprit, ce morceau est désormais aux commandes.

Projection cathodique nous plonge entre la vie et la mort, à l’intérieur de ce fameux tunnel qui habite l’imaginaire des êtres humains depuis des lustres. Oscillant entre le trajet vers l’enfer et celui du paradis, la destination finale demeure incertaine. Je crois tout de même que quelque chose de positif ressort de cette tumultueuse création, une lumière jaillit néanmoins à travers la brume. Un album de cette envergure se savoure avec une totale dévotion, sans quoi vous ne serez pas en mesure de saisir l’ampleur du travail qui se dissimule derrière chacune des notes. Il représente une expérience musicale pratiquement inqualifiable, j’ai eu l’impression de faire de la méditation en ayant consommé des substances hallucinogènes. En espérant que vous arriverez aussi à laisser l’immense talent de ces deux musiciens vous faire décoller dans vos pensées les plus lointaines.

One of the wildest albums of the new year comes from Montréal composer Jean Derome. Even a quick look at the back of the CD, and one knows one is in for a treat: 20 performers on instruments ranging from tuned kalimbas to trombones. The tuning is to 60 Hz, the standard tuning of North American electricity, and the album is exactly 60 minutes long (although billed as 59:59). As one might expect, currents abound. Derome is interested in all manner of electricity: “current, flow, power, voltage, resistance, circuit, motor, pulse and frequency.” We hope our readers will forgive the obvious statement: this album is electric.

The performers treat restraints as opportunities, typically improvising around a theme, wherever the conductor has placed their seats. A sweet cacophony builds to overload on Étagement des fréquences, implying that all of the performers are having a blast; the ensuing bleats of Aurores boréales are like those of a pleasant reveler on New Year’s Eve. And of course some of the instruments require electricity to work, notably the turntable and iPad, while the others rely on currents for amplification and recording.

The eight-note eruption of Tableau eventually leads to a restrained explosion of drums, skirting on the edge of accessibility, playing with emotions and expectations. There’s little use for the avant-garde if it’s just noise and meandering. This track serves as a wink to the audience, and is helpful in creating a sense that such moments will be doled out throughout the release. Nothing here will be a hit, but that doesn’t mean it won’t make an impact. The onomatopoeia of Vamp produces a similar effect, while the army of metronomes in Fréquences-métronomes makes it sound like a clock shoppe.

As the album progresses, it veers wildly from side to side like a bowling ball in a bumper lane. The composer draws wide lines, but there are lines, a loose focus that allows for creativity on an expanded playground. If one is tempted to play along, making noises with one’s mouth or tapping the objects in the living room, Derome would likely be pleased. We all have electricity running though us, enough to carry static shocks, fire synapses, and make balloons rubbed in the hair stick to walls. This album highlights our common connection, and celebrates the energy it produces.

As Political Ritual, Maxime Corbeil-Perron and Félix-Antoine Morin offer sequences of disparate tones ~ sometimes tonal opposites, often at war ~ and invite listeners to hear their own metaphors. The album is a great experiment on impressions, as this simple prompt leads to all manner of ideas. One of the most obvious (and amusing) is that the acronym PR is itself shared with another more famous word pairing.

We live in a world on the brink of chaos. This simple fact affects all new art, whether consciously or not. “ Cérémonie ” is a study in contrast, beginning in fluttering electronics and solid, growing drones, but eventually incorporating organ-like tones and a bit of melody. One might glean an impression of chaos v. order, modernity v. tradition, sense v. nonsense. By the halfway mark, a new dominant sound emerges, a tempo-driven vibration that sounds like a misread CD-R; this is, however, a record. The music continues to play; the sound continues to intrude, with no end in sight. When stronger voices (beats) emerge, the mechanism rights itself for a brief period, but then changes form and returns. One might liken the effect to the game Whac-a-Mole, arriving at the conclusion that nothing will ever be perfect, that systems will always fail, and that even if one area is fixed, another will break. From this conclusion will stem one’s worldview. Either it’s worth trying, or it’s not. It’s worth going on, or it’s not. The evidence of this artistic statement is a vote for the latter.

Side B is a different animal: subtle, soothing, and calm. The first sounds of “ Projection_cathodique ” are those of water and chimes. This initial context makes the dark chords seem more ritualistic than foreboding. Is this still Political Ritual? Is this the longed-for nirvana that arrives at the tail end of all our efforts, making every ounce of suffering worthwhile? Or is this the sound of narcotic escape, a surrender to barbiturate entertainment, a desensitization to the world as it is? The two artists again provide little clue, but perhaps their very obliqueness is a clue: think for yourselves, people, we don’t have to tell you what everything means! All we will say is that the piece is lovely, like hands gently passed across doorway curtains, activating beads and bells. Compare the two sides and realize that they live in the same twelve inches of space, like a flattened globe. Make whatever conclusions you may.

Butterfield’s pieces suggest an unschooled or outsider’s approach. In actuality, we hear an unsettling union of chance and specificity. Titled deceptively, the string sextet Lullaby starts quietly, almost atmospherically, and suddenly stumbles upon a descending sequence which elsewhere might serve a harmonic function but here seems to be purely decorative. Clinamen requires that the solo violinist navigate at will across 80 short phrases printed on cards. The brief gestures, some immediately repeated, make for nearly 15 minutes of ambiguous restlessness. Evidently Butterfield rails against form and traditional logic.

Written for the Quatuor Bozzini, fall repeats chords derived from a four-note cell, except the players have randomly chosen dynamics which disturb the voice leading and create an illusion of harmony and motion. Trip, also written for the Bozzini, serializes pitches but applies durations using chance. Dynamics and structure were finalized later. A radio broadcast emerges in the first movement, and the final movement dwarfs the preceding three. If the first three were perky bagatelles, the finale is slow and disconsolate. The Bozzini deliver with aplomb, and yet it’s hard to know what to make of it all.

In Japan there is a tradition of women pearl divers (ama). The sound they make as they return to the surface to breathe is called isobue or beach whistle, in a loose translation. The solo cello alternates slowly between high and low (like the divers), held tones, and rasping pizzicato. Most of the other pieces give off motion and end unexpectedly, but stay rooted to the same place. Beach whistle is uniquely descriptive among this curious collection.