Alcest
Les Voyages De L'âme

Memories of Another World. Unfortunately.

I certainly didn’t expect another masterpiece: Alcest is not one of those projects from which one can anticipate some sort of evolution/revolution; even though, if we look closely, "Le Secret" (2005) and the famous "Souvenirs d’un Autre Monde" (2007), with those unusual but exceedingly apt shoegaze and post-rock excursions (and perhaps even a few sugar cubes), had an extraordinary impact on the extreme metal scene, black metal in particular, so much so that they gave rise to a true sub-sub-genre, as well as a trail of countless clones that seem to have embraced the word of the arrogant French Neige as their only source of inspiration. All the prerequisites for building a career marked by innovation were there.

However, the great success of the second album-revelation "Écailles de Lune" served little purpose, received well (but not enthusiastically) by the critics: the impression was of a vague déjà-vu that, however, could be widely justified by the urgent need of the artist in question to delve deeper into a formula that had only recently been experimented with. And, in fact, in my opinion, it is precisely with “Écailles de Lune” that Neige produced his true masterpiece, formally imperfect and more dispersive than usual, but an excellent synthesis of all the Alcest project's souls, from the black and desperate one to the more acoustic and dreamy one. But in the end, masterpiece or not, it was now obvious that our dear snail-eater would soon end up reworking the same ideas, crossing into the most cynical and clever craftsmanship.

This new “Les voyages de l'âme”, released little less than two years after “Écailles de lune”, does nothing but confirm this suspicion. Neige has become, for all intents and purposes, a sterile craftsman trapped in the same lyrical-musical clichés he himself created and which he has been dishing out for years now: fairy worlds, ethereal girls, angelic visions, poignant and sugary moans, poses of a sad and misunderstood poet (and now, it seems, PEACOCKS too). But, if for the joy of the fans from a lyrical point of view there hasn’t been any change, the same cannot be said of the music, characterized by an increasingly blatant elegance that, on its own, cannot revive the fate of these abundant 50 minutes of horrendous and overly glossy recycling of the best (alas, no longer such) ideas and the best riffs of Alcest.

Thus, the evocativeness of a masterful “Élévation” is wasted on the enchanted pathos of a “Beings Of Light”; the sincerity and genuineness of “Souvenirs d’un Autre Monde” are dribbled over in the horrifying eight-minute compositions of “Là Où Naissent Les Couleurs Nouvelles” and “Summer’s Glory,” both pepped up with stale riffs and inconclusive tempo changes; and the inspiration of “Écailles De Lune” makes itself very small in “Faiseurs De Mondes,” the only genuinely decent episode of this otherworldly journey through atrocious cascades of treacle and narcissistic whines. And “Autre Temps,” the big debut single which personally didn’t leave a good impression on me, with hindsight earns almost tenderness with those cute rosy-water arpeggios. Let’s draw a veil over Neige’s entire vocal performance, increasingly distant from the emotions of the beginnings, increasingly less ethereal and crystalline, more akin to a narcoleptic moan.

Every time "Souvenirs" or "Écailles" end their scant 40 minutes, I always wish they'd last longer. Now I can say I've been granted my wish: "Les Voyages" is Alcest's most compact and substantial album, and unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find the patience to sit through it in its entirety. Let me reiterate: I didn’t expect another masterpiece, just as I didn’t expect a sudden turn towards unlikely sludge/noise/avant-garde/industrial/grindcore shores. An honest, enjoyable piece of work with a couple of great tracks would have sufficed; but an album so kitsch, tearful, plasticky, redundant, self-indulgent, boring, dull and indigestible (in one word, false) simply makes me cry with bitterness.

And all that's left of the magic is a memory; the memory of another world...