Louanges

Description

We encountered many versions of Stephan Eicher: the one from the late 70s, tinkering away in the depths of dark rock clubs, with ancient drum machines and computers running on heavy footwork; the one from the glory days a few years ago, pedantic in the deep sofas of provincial palaces, having retained from Bowie only the haughtiness. Then, we let him live his encounter with Philippe Djian, his perennial multilingualism, and his disqualifying tendency to sound too electric for the world of song—and too delicate for the world of rock. Louanges will surely please those already won over, while it will evoke indifference in all others. It indeed contains everything that can either attract or irritate about Eicher: toxic atmospheres, schoolboy language, and fragmented diction. The Swiss German often works, and quite evidently, for high school girls. This does not make him any less admirable. However, we will be pleased to see him partially renounce electronics for the warmth of vibrating skins and the power of an earthy organ. He thus offers some beautiful cymbal gems, an assumed Celtic imprint ("Venez danser was written before the Breton trend swept in. I certainly wasn't going to erase the bagpipe track!"), and languid atmospheres like only the slow songs of the 60s dared to approach as summer approached. But, as often with him, the two peaks of the Swiss are his share of chiaroscuro and collapse: "Campari and soda," a very happy cover of the punk band Taxi, illuminates with the candlelight of introspection the dreary passage of time. The vintage 70s synthesizer, echoing the Ondes Martenot, and a moonlit violin dress this lament of disenchantment, mechanical intoxication, as desolate as a flat champagne. As for "Sans vouloir te commander," the easy peak of the album, the song unfolds in gray the torments of resentment and impossible love. The drum brushes drive their little nails deep into hearts, a satin trumpet inventories the distresses, and Eicher, sometimes on the verge of falsetto, uses everyday words with exemplary dignity and restraint. The outstretched hand, finally, like in the photo of the booklet, or during a series of seemingly stunning concerts, like a sad tightrope walker. - Les Inrocks