An Pierlé
Helium Sunset

An Pierlé, from Antwerp, tries to counteract the strict lines of her homeland right from the outset: she is known for playing the piano sitting on a ball during her concerts. Her sinuous voice, accompanied by the sparing and gentle arrangements of the White Velvet, battles with the pinnacles of the cities, the sharp cobblestones of the streets, the checkered profiles of the houses, the precise bricks of the facades and the cut of the wood, with the long and thin raindrops.

Her second album, released in 2002, is a sweet journey in an upside-down Flanders. The influences of Beth Gibbons and Portishead, Bjork, and Tori Amos mark the nocturnal and blurred sounds: the piano dominates, supported mainly by the organ and a guitar that is never invasive, a light drum, and a discreet bass. The rest is all done by Pierlé's magical voice and the caressing melodies she traces.

The beginning is a small masterpiece ("Sorry"), with Pierlé interpreting a female Cave, between the tragic and the nostalgic: the piece flows like on a canal, reflecting the straight lines of the landscape by softening them into a mixture that distorts and gentles them, especially midway through, when the piano seems to emerge and submerge continuously, only to disappear and re-emerge suddenly accompanied by spine-tingling Portishead-like choirs. In "As Sudden Tears Fall" the intro is delightful, with the accordion and brushing drum accompanying voice and guitar: after the chorus, the piece becomes intoxicated, and again circles and curves overturn the course of the sounds, diverting them into upside-down, spiraling, almost playful visions.

Pierlé has the virtue of being able to be delicate and graceful without being cloying. The harmonies, needing to counterpose an undulating trait to stern segments, are never sugary, but rather melancholy (as in the passionate "Kiss Me"). There are also livelier moments, where Pierlé's voice climbs onto more daring and scratchy instrumentations ("Sister", "Sing Song Sally"), with excellent results when the two tendencies meet and the lines intersect: an example is "Helium Sunset", almost Oriental in its more pungent structure and more tortuous drums. And there is room, in this collection of strangely harmonious geometries, for moments more clearly inspired by the dark sound of Portishead: listen to "Medusa", with the darkened drums and hollow organ, or "Leave Me There", where the organ's fabric serves as a carpet for a series of detached and almost incongruous sounds, with Pierlé's own voice becoming more dissociated (here indeed Gibbons teaches), only to be joined by a male voice and a guitar phraseology that magically reestablish it. A great piece, with the concluding and darker "Walk", driven by a sinister accordion.

Here the days are made of heavy yet fast clouds, running wild above your head or reflecting in silent canals like animals on alert; they are made of lights that open suddenly at the end of the day, batting against houses already asleep; they are made of water and stone. The twisted and scything trend of this music, then, actually opens a space in a hidden and marginal dimension of these landscapes, expanding and deepening the severe sweetness and the almost distracted but generous romanticism that, behind the hardness, is concealed here.