Those good people at Computer Students™ have unearthed and re-released the second album by French post-everything, acoustic anarcho duo Cheval de Frise and what a discovery it is. Another ten tracks of their particularly inventive brand of instrumental waywardness is just what the doctor ordered, and once again, the attention to detail on the packaging is a delight.
The iridescent shimmer of the guitar revels in unknown chords and you can imagine hands distorted into wild shapes as the strings cry while the tangential veering of the drums pushes and cajoles. At times it feels on the edge of delirium, constantly searching for solace; but as they are a duo and due to the diversity between the sounds of the instruments, there is a fair amount of space which they try their very hardest to fill or at least prevent you from noticing. The constant movement and disparate tones are beguiling, but it is also a journey of great satisfaction to the listener, one you feel thrilled to be part of, even though they are too intent to even notice you.
These sounds and rhythms are being produced for the sake of it, seeing into what shapes they can pull the songs and what fresh textures they can extort from such simple means. It is part of their being and for that we have to be thankful. There are also pastoral moments of gentle splendour, the guitar somehow sounding like a harpsichord on “Deux Nappes Ductiles” while the drums evoke a child on biscuit tins. The tones are odd and the notes curious, and there is always a thought that maybe this was what the love child of Polvo and Gastr might have sounded like.Any possible influences are somehow distilled into something unique. They hop from the tame to the ferocious, their mangling of rhythm and meter seemingly perfectly in sync. It really is difficult to tell where one player ends and the other begins here and this utter synchronicity is a real joy. That frayed and flayed guitar allied to the driven, searching percussion, light yet intense, is a rare thing and although the kit sounds lightweight, it feels like an extension of Vincent Beysselance‘s thoughts.
If these were artworks, they would be mad oily sketches, dashed off with a minimum of thought and a maximum of visceral contact, paint flying across the room, coating hair and clothes; but they also feel like ruminations. There is an intensity as if the answers to all the world’s woes can be uncovered if you hit the drums hard enough or scrape the strings enthusiastically enough, arcane texts translated into these warped vistas.Towards the end, the guitar manages to sound like both a buzzsaw violin and squealing animals, both of which are dropped into an intricately arranged vat of rhythmic stew. The album is a test of endurance both for the players and the listener and even though Fresques Sur Les Parois Secrètes Du Crâne is only thirty-five minutes long, there is such effort and sweat expended that perhaps it is better that it isn’t any longer.
You can almost see the duo collapsing on an ancient couch, covered in sweat as the album reels to a halt. It is an absolute treat and sits perfectly with the previous album, expanding those ideas enough to make it worthwhile. Plus on vinyl it looks sublime.-Mr Olivetti-
