Chattanooga Pulse

Written by Ernie Paik
Wednesday, 25 March 2009 16:16

Faust
C’est Com…Com…Compliqué
(Bureau B)

At this point, the German band Faust seems to be unstoppable. They’ve been around since the early ’70s and have a number of essential, classic Krautrock-era albums to their name, including Faust, So Far, and The Faust Tapes. After reappearing in the ’90s, they’ve shown no signs up letting up, with solid releases and unique collaborations with the hip-hop duo Dälek and sinister sound artists Nurse With Wound. Bassist Jean-Hervé Péron and drummer Werner “Zappi” Diermaier are the only remaining members from the original line-up, and they’ve added Amaury Cambuzat, from the group Ulan Bator, to their fold. In 2006, they recorded material that was edited by Nurse With Wound into long, mysterious, hypnotizing tracks for the album Disconnected. Faust’s latest release, C’est Com…Com…Compliqué, is comprised of these original session recordings before they went under the knife, and it’s a completely different beast.

The opening track, “Kundalini Tremolos,” immediately brings to mind various elements from previous Faust songs, including the buzz-waves of “Krautrock” and the vaguely Native American drumming of “It’s a Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl,” without sounding like precise retreads; its heavy breathing and sustained aural fog make for somewhat disquieting listening. Most singing is done in French, rather than the expected English or German, and highlights include “Bonjour Gioacchino,” with unruly cymbal-heavy drumming and a repeated sample of a dramatic orchestra passage, and the lengthy title track, with ghostly tones, wild brass, and electronics.

Faust is adept at making unusual, unpredictable audio collages, but there’s another side to the band. This is possibly best revealed on its 1973 collaboration with Tony Conrad, entitled Outside the Dream Syndicate, when serving as Conrad’s rhythm section, playing stark, minimalist patterns. Several tracks on C’est Com…Com…Compliqué use this as the prominent style, and listeners who favor Faust’s more capricious songs might find these tracks a bit too narrow and long. It seems to underscore the divide between the band’s live and studio approaches, and even when they seem to rub up against each other, as they often do on C’est Com…Com…Compliqué, Faust gets interesting results.

Mirah
(a)spera
(K Records)

There’s been a steady stream of Mirah releases in the last few years-a remix album, an odds-and-ends collection, and a collaborative concept album with Spectratone International about insects-but, somewhat frustratingly, there hasn’t been a proper solo album since C’mon Miracle from 2004. For some, it may not matter, since Mirah is blessed with a voice that’s effortlessly pretty and like buttah, which alone can carry just about any song. The latest from the Portland artist is (a)spera, an album that doesn’t seem to have the overtly carnal moments that are conspicuous on previous releases; however, there is a thematic cohesion to the album, with nautical settings and nature providing the backdrop for her pensive, relationship-centered songs.

From the string-enhanced opening track, “Generosity,” one thread begins, describing the emotional push and pull of giving and taking; Mirah ends the song by repeating, “I won’t give more,” drained and dejected. The theme bleeds into the following track, “The World Is Falling,” which features some of the album’s most absorbing songwriting. Lines like “Punctured by the compass needles, riled with certainty / The rescue boats are useless when none of us can agree” peculiarly convey that the right direction is painfully clear, but a lack of unity is the real problem. Even more peculiar is the metaphor in “Education,” which describes a love bond as being a hit-and-run car accident involving a deer.

The music, while pleasant and tastefully arranged, takes a backseat to the lyrics for about half of the album and generally maintains a constant volume. Actually, it’s not until the fifth track, “Country of the Future,” where the listener is slightly shaken by its Cuban-flavored percussion; the mix is stirred up further by “The Forest,” with chugging electric guitars and brass flourishes, and the smoky beatnik jazz of “Gone Are the Days.” My attention mostly seemed to gravitate either toward Mirah’s lyrics or her music, instead of each song as a whole, and because of that, (a)spera seems to be askew, despite being entirely listenable. But, on the album’s finest moment, the perfect, angelic closing track “While We Have the Sun,” both the lyrical and sonic worlds are balanced.