Comme une Tete Radiophonique

I described The Young Gods as "stadium" here.  It was pointed out to me that they don't fill stadiums.  But, I stabd by it as a descriptor of the broad strokes of the music I've heard.  Replce with "main stage" or something if you're a stickler for gate-size accuracy.

NOIR DESIR – DES VISAGES DES FIGURES (Barclay, 2001)

My first thought when playing this album was that it made me think of The Young Gods.
 
Actually, my honest first thought was that I thought this would have more of a world rock vibe, until I realised I was thinking of les Negresses Vertes.  Turns out that there was more than one band with a French colour in their name in the dustiest recesses of my consciousness.
 
Anyway, for those who don’t know, The Young Gods are a Swiss stadium industrial band, who are not hugely interesting, but probably decent enough propping up an early evening festival slot in Lucerne.  But in 2008 they released an album of acoustic recordings, including a rather excellent version of Suicide’s “Ghost Rider”, which suddenly made the band far more interesting (I’m pretty sure BradX made me aware of this record on the main site).  At its best, this album has the same impact, where tightly controlled, judiciously reined in, sotto voce playing adds wonder to some foursquare rock tunes.
 
Opener “L’Enfant Roi” is built on an riff which becomes far more engrossing played on an acoustic than it would fully amped, backed by some white noise effects which sound like wind on distant steppes. Similarly, the title track begins like the shy ghost of Radiohead inhabiting some folk buskers, before ushering in some mournful squeaky gate clarinet which reminds me of Mark Hollis’s self-titled LP.  “Son Style 2” is even more Radioheaded, a misty lead-footed guitar part playing behind intimate, perhaps even confessional vocals, which still carve out a rock shape, with shades of “Lucky” or “Exit Music (For a Film)”.
 
Sadly, “Son Style 1” is one of a few moments when the sound ramps up and we find ourselved in relatively uninteresting rock territory (it’s probably a few more hours in this Lucerne field before The Young Gods come on, is it too early for a beer?).  There are also a few instances where a nice organic dub groove – think Mezzanine era Massive Attack recreated in wickerwork – gets a bit too blustery and turns into 90s U2.
 
But, any wrong turns or lapses in rockist taste (foot in mouth, or foot on monitors, as applicable) are forgiven with the final track.  “L’Europe” is nigh on 24 minutes of hums, backwashing static, longwave tuning half-muted guitar chords and barely vocalised clarinet which slowly becomes distended until it’s a strange sort of restrained rap and a clinically castrated funk, all backed by eerie Twin Peaks woodwind and buzzing.  My GCSE French is nowhere near good enough to understand it all , though there’s a part about “le marmite de l’hermite” – and surely Hermit’s Casserole is a lost Canterbury prog act – and a detourned inspirational quote, “La vie commence maintenant...et maintenant...et maintenant”.  It all drifts away to leave what might be hand-drums and duduk at a neighbouring campfire.
 
My translation of the band’s name is Black Longing, which sounds pretty maleficent. Folk wisdom tells us that the devil has the best tunes, and that the devil is in the detail.  Extrapolate, and we can conclude the melodic magic on this LP happens in the sonic subtleties rather than the big gestures. 

Negu Technic

 

NEGU GORRIAK – GURE JARRERA (Esan Ozenki ,1991)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8SUNJIB6vU&t=1457s

If you only listen to one industrial hip-hop punk collage album in a language you can’t place this fortnight, make it this one.  
 
Or, I don’t know, a different one, I have no frame of reference.  But, regardless of a complete lack of context, this record is pretty much the distillation of energy in music, and as such is a wonderful ride. The opening is a one minute car crash of block-rocking beats, clunky samples and what might be a keening Armenian duduk.  There are a few of these little interludes in the album, and they’re surprisingly the most enjoyable parts.  Some of the edits are so cleaver-clumsy I often couldn’t tell whether I was listening to the album or whether a YouTube advert had cut in unceremoniously.
 
The proper songs (for a given value of “proper”) are huge chunky rockers with a post-electro beatbox framework, which fall somewhere between Big Audio Dynamite and Ministry with a manic punk gurn.  There are moments when I’m reminded of acts as disparate as early Beastie Boys, Rage Against The Machine, Aerosmith and EMF, but Negu Gorriak will never be mistaken for any of them, as they bundle frenetically into each track as if thjey have to get the record done before dinner burns.  Like many foundational punk and rap artists, it feels as though the itching desire to say something has over-ridden any concerns as musically bourgeois as second takes or edits.  Of course, I don’t know what it actually is they are saying, but we figure it’s mostly pointed, and someone or -thing is doubtless the target of the (admittedly blunt) sonic weaponry.  
 
There are times when the sloppiness is frustrating – bringing in the robo-vox from “O, Superman” for all of 3 seconds before abandoning it is particularly mystifying – and times when the songs are such dumbass rock generica it’s only the sonic rawness differentiating them from the soundtrack to any beery frat party, but the experience as a whole is galvanising, which is what so much popular music is ultimately all about.
 
Final track “Euskal Herri Nerea” is a surprisingly tight piece of rubber-bassed ska rock, as if to prove that they can do it by the book if they choose, they just have other things on their minds most of the time.  Well, fair enough, mark us down as convinced: Up the revolution!  Or down!  Or whatever it is we’re supposed to think!