The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, September 15, 2015 — 5
Petite Noir is unique
but still frustrating
ALBUM REVIEW
“Noirwave” artist
restructures
electronic music in
debut
By DANIEL SAFFRON
Daily Arts Writer
Yannick Ilunga, under the
stagename
Petite
Noir,
releases
his
first full-length
album Le Vie
Est Belle // Life
Is
Beautiful
through
Domino
Records. Ilunga
labels the music
“Noirwave,”
a
subgenre
derivative
of
the New Wave
movement
of
the
’80s.
The
album
offers
Ilunga’s
interesting
interpretation and restructuring
of electronic music and pushes
the ears of its listeners to accept
rhythmic and harmonic patterns
seldom explored by the larger
genre’s “popular” counterparts.
The first track of the album,
“Intro
Noirwave,”
does
as
it
promises.
It
softly
and
surreptitiously introduces the
album’s unique approaches and
emphases. While easily glossed
over as a soft start to the later,
replay-friendlier tracks, there’s
a lot more going on than one
might think. “Intro Noirwave”
is structured on two different
sections,
the
differentiating
characteristic of which being the
two different polyrhythmic and
strongly syncopated structures
on which the relatively static
harmonic padding is buttressed.
From here things get slightly
more
involved.
The
song’s
principal phrase length is 16
bars, and it is from these 16 bar
cycles that the music derives
all of its overarching pulses and
transitions. The sections, call
them A and B respectively, are
introduced as 16-bar sections.
Each
section
then
further
reworks the 16 bars. The A
section is based on a repeating
two-bar rhythmic phrase; the
B section is based on a four-bar
phrase, broken into repeating
two-bar phrases. The harmonic
padding in the B section changes
in 8 bar phrases, while in the A
section the harmonic rhythm is
a little more obscured. It is also
broken into eight-bar phrases,
however there is motion in the
second pulse of the first phrase
then again on the downbeat of
the second phrase.
This involved interpretation
illustrates that hiding within
the
apparent
simplicity
of
Petite Noir’s music is a nuanced
complexity, a look at which
helps to understand where the
music is coming from — a place
where rhythm and structure
are monarchical over harmony
and melody. These rhythmic
processes are integral to Petite
Noir’s sound and it’s their
emphasis that allows Petite
Noir to free himself from the
strictures of more mainstream
music — the trend for which has
been an overwhelming reliance
on harmony and melody for
structure — only using rhythm
for groove and feel.
With one notable exception
— “Seventeen (Stay)” — the
album struggles with its song’s
endings, which are too similar
between
tracks
and
don’t
feel very complimentary to
each track’s groove; the songs
feel like they end because
they need to end, leaving an
organic
ending
longed
for.
“Seventeen (Stay),” however,
grows into itself rather nicely.
It is always appreciated when
an artist attempts a long-
form composition. The song
showcases
Ilunga’s
ability
to work with and maintain a
dynamic energy throughout a
seven-minute
track.
Proving
with this track the ability to
allow a song to take its course, it
is a shame that the other songs
on the album are cut short.
The album is a very successful
miscegenation
of
electronic
sounds, acoustic instruments
and
Ilunga’s
distinct
voice,
whose peaty, girthsome timbre
is smoky-sweet in the low
registers and horn-like at the top
of its range. “Best” and “Colour”
are upbeat and danceable, while
the title track and “Chess” are
slower, sultry and seductive. “Le
Vie Est Belle // Life Is Beautiful
(feat. Baloji)” boasts one of
the album’s highlights, when
the hearty inertial drive of the
track is minced and tossed up
by a French verse from Baloji,
a
Congolese,
Belgium-based
rapper.
Le Vie Est Belle // Life is
Beautiful also finds issues with
its song placement. There is no
real sense of narrative structure
emerging from the track listing.
There is nothing wrong or bad
about any track placement, but
I struggle to locate any intra-
album dialectic between songs.
Furthermore, the sandwiching
of
the
penultimate
song
between “Chess” and “Down,”
tracks released months prior to
the album release, don’t serve
the album well. Having listened
to these two tracks many times
outside of the context of this
particular album – in the case
of “Chess” within the context
of a different album, The King
of Anxiety EP – I was pulled out
of the album’s vibe right at its
end, an album’s most sensitive
moment.
The tracks released on Le Vie
Est Belle are good, and some have
a secure spot on my playlists
for the foreseeable future. Its
utilization of rhythmic phrasing
and reinterpretation of the
electronic sound make it good,
but its many shortcomings put
it shy of being a great album. I
do, however, suspect a positive
trajectory for Petite Noir and
look forward to his next full
length release.
B
La Vie
Est Belle
// Life is
Beautiful
Petite Noir
Domino
Records Inc.
ALBUM REVIEW
‘Black Sheep’ beats
its own damn drum
By CLAIRE WOOD
Daily Arts Writer
I’m three shots down when I
hear it.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh.”
Silence.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh.”
Not
choir
Ohs.
Nothing
delicate or dainty. These Ohs
rumble, thick and thunderous,
the kind you’d hear while
engaging in some zealous tribal
ritual around a bonfire.
Drums pound. Tambourines
tremble.
Piano
cascades
beneath a robust, arpeggiated
voice line that sucks you under
like a waterfall.
“Everybody’s doing it, so why
the hell should I?”
Vocals cut the chaos. It’s
Gin Wigmore singing “Black
Sheep” from her 2013 album
Gravel and Wine. Her words
ring with raspy soul, and you
wonder if she downed a shot
of Jack Daniels before hitting
the studio. It’s the kind of voice
that wears a leather jacket, and
those shiny black boots with
the spurs on the side. Confident
and contagious. Potent and
powerful.
“I wasn’t born a beauty queen,
but I’m OK with that,” she sings.
“Radio won’t mind if I sing a
little flat.”
The lyrics are honest and
open, and I’m taken by surprise.
I hear healthy standards for
body image; I hear a realistic
response to flaws. It’s self-
acceptance — and it’s refreshing.
“I’m a black sheep,” Wigmore
announces. “I’m a black sheep.”
Black Sheep.
The phrase catches me off
guard. The only “black sheep” I
knew was “Baa Baa” — the one
my grandmother used to ask for
wool, back in my nursery-rhyme
years. Yes Sir, Yes Sir, Three Bags
Full.
But the phrase has more
definitions.
Enter:
Urban
Dictionary
—
Black
Sheep:
“Someone who doesn’t follow
mainstream
ways.
Someone
who doesn’t care what is in or
out.”
And over a soul-quaking,
earth-shaking
ensemble
of
drums and piano, Gin Wigmore
screams this. Her words tingle
with ballsy confidence — an
irresistible invincibility that
drags me in. She says, I am who
I am. I beat my own drum. Bite
me.
So I’m sitting here, three
shots down, my back pressed
against the bottom half of a red
sofa stained with God-knows-
what on the apartment floor
of God-knows-who. And I’m
hooked — completely hooked.
Not just because the drums
pound, and the piano thunders.
Not just because the vocals soar.
I’m
hooked
because
Gin
Wigmore is right.
“Black Sheep” is a song about
self-acceptance.
It’s
a
song
about loving yourself for who
you are, what you are, and what
you stand for. It’s about going to
medical school, because that’s
your passion. It’s about dying
your hair orange, because that’s
your color. It’s about moving
to the city, because that’s your
dream. Or rocking medical
school, dying your hair orange,
and then hitting the Big Apple
because that’s who you are, and
hey — why not?
We all have our own drums.
Hell, let’s pound them.
DID YOU MISS OUR FIRST TWO MASS MEETINGS?
HAVE NO FEAR!
WE ‘VE GOT TWO MORE.
JOIN DAILY ARTS
Mass meetings 9/17 and 9/20 at 7 p.m.
To request an application, e-mail adepollo@umich.edu and chloeliz@umich.edu.
By MELINA GLUSAC
Daily Arts Writer
If you don’t know who The
Libertines are, don’t feel bad.
It’s not every day you find a
’90s-bred
college student
fluent
in
the
early
2000s
Brit-garage-
rock
revival.
While we were
watching “Dora
the
Explorer,”
Libertines
frontman Pete
Doherty
was
injecting illegal
substances,
courting Kate Moss and singing
about the “Boys in the Band.”
But hey, here we are — and here
The Libertines are with a brand
new release, just 11 years after
their last album. No big deal.
A
more
proper
biopic:
Four
strapping
chaps
from
the mean streets of London
banded together around 1997,
at the prompting of Doherty
and co-founder/guitarist Carl
Barât, to form the group some
of us — particularly Brits — now
know and love. They put out
two incredible albums in 2002
and 2004 (Up the Bracket and
The
Libertines,
respectively),
but underwent an ugly breakup
in 2004 that stemmed from
Doherty’s
profound
romance
with crack, cocaine and heroin.
Ahem. Forgive me, Your Majesty.
So what’s the point, you
ask? Why are we bothering
with these sloppy, short-lived
hooligans who obviously can’t
seem to get their shit together?
Well, to start, The Libertines’s
music
is
nothing
short
of
consistently
brilliant
(see:
“Can’t Stand Me Now,” “Time
for Heroes” and “The Good Old
Days”). And though they have
lost a smidgen of their edge now,
it seems, Anthems for Doomed
Youth is a valiant comeback for
these resilient Redcoats.
The aptly titled “Barbarians”
begins
the
punk-throwback
journey, and here The Libertines
rest in familiar territory. Catchy
tempo changes, rebellious lyrics,
clanging guitars — it’s all good
stuff, even if Doherty sounds the
tiniest bit soggier than before
(sobriety’s a bitch). “Belly of the
Beast” is similar in its nostalgic
allure, and “Glasgow Coma Scale
Blues” adds some chutzpah to
the Libertinian formula with its
nifty stop-start riffs and great
rock feel.
Whatever it means, “Fury
of the Chonburi” works just
as well. It brings the group’s
coolest defining characteristic
back to the forefront: messy
choruses that are the sonic
equivalent of a train-wreck bar
fight too fascinating to look away
from. “Gunga Din” is also stellar
—
a
ska-esque,
Californian
ditty with chords that aim to
please. Easy, breezy, beautiful.
Libertines.
The band starts to fall off
the
bracket,
though,
with
the slow songs. Yes, balance
and diversity is the key to
any
proportional,
successful
compilation, but Anthems for
Doomed
Youth
overestimates
the temporary charm of a yawn.
“You’re My Waterloo” is lovely
but underwhelming, and then
“Iceman” starts, along with the
listener’s desire to doze off. By
the time “The Milkman’s Horse”
comes
around,
the
stretchy
argot of Doherty’s lyrics and
sleepy background drums have
the listener itching to abuse
the fast-forward button. Here’s
the problem: The Libertines
have proven they can do truly
inventive slow stuff (“Music
When The Lights Go Out”) in
the past. As a result, these new,
yet trite tracks sound studio-
ized and lackluster at best. If
anything, the closing “Dead for
Love” is effective because of its
deep lyrical content detailing
the passing of one of Doherty’s
druggie friends. “Fame and
Fortune” completely misses the
mark, as it mostly sounds like
a creepy musical number the
Artful Dodger would sing to
little punk rockers in training.
The album hits the nail on the
head, though, at precisely two
locations. “Heart of the Matter”
is a gritty triumph, showcasing
The Libertines in their most
perfect, traditional form. No
resting, no slowing down, just
pure,
unadulterated
garage.
And what’s that I hear? Ever-so-
slight synths in the background?
Score one for Team Doherty.
“Anthem for Doomed Youth,”
the titular track, is perhaps the
biggest accomplishment. “Was
it Cromwell or Orwell who
first led you to the stairwell,
which leads only forever to
kingdom come? Rushed along
by guiding hands, whispers of
the promised land
. They wished you luck
and
handed
you
a
gun,”
Doherty philosophizes against
desperate acoustic guitars. This
is where “lackluster” can work
in favor of the band — when
the theme of the tune is that
of the simultaneous beauty
and ennui of youth. The music
then conveys the longing, the
aimlessness
of
feeling
the
world at your fingertips. The
Libertines know what it’s like
to muck up that potential. But
maybe there’s something to
mucking it up and getting it
right — bloody right — in the
end.
Libertines comeback
B-
Anthems
for
Doomed
Youth
The Libertines
Virgin EMI
MUSIC NOTEBOOK