Bernard Bonnier
Casse-tete

They usually divide music into cultured and unshaven, You know què intiendo. And what is a more concrete example of cultured music than Musique Concrete? Precisely.

Bernard Bonnier was born in Montreal in '52 and died, seemingly concretely, in Quebec in 1994 for causes that remain unknown. Before kicking the bucket, he had the foresight to gift us, as Concrete evidence of an era when the word "electroacoustic" was still used outside of universities (or not?), with an incredibly interesting compilation of works dated, in order: '79-'79-'79-'78-'79-'79-'73.

Recent studies attempt to show that in '79, Bernardino da Monreale was getting more action, but there is no Concrete evidence. But let's not dwell, I wholeheartedly love this record: in fact, I've rarely had the chance to hear something so cheerful, playful, pastiche-ated, and at the same time solidly avant-garde. You know, one imagines high music to be somewhat aristocratic, with an overcoat, a pipe, and perhaps Poirot's mustache, besides being, obviously, rather high. Quite the opposite of the lady music present in this record, composed in this manner here, a modus operandi that (opinion rich in ignorance) compared to a Stockhausen seems closer to any Four Tet. Not that Stockhausen doesn't have a sense of humor, of course (the helicopter orchestra... come on, he's a prankster!).

Let's move on to the little record: it's a work of field recordings, where women are recorded laughing, children shouting things like "TARALLO TARALLO", where doors creak, airplanes take off in your ears, and synthesizers run unrelentingly, with a wobbling step very similar to the posthumous Riccardo Davide Giacomo (it's worth saying: he mentioned this record in an interview, which is why I know it). And still, where percussion is used in a way that not even the Animal Collective would consider appropriate. At times, it made me think even of Oneida, at other times of some particularly annoying kraut moments. Something undefined, in short, without a center or direction, Concrete in its refusal of compositional theory but for the same reason also psychedelic and surely impactful if listened to in a state of adequate mental alteration (no, I'm not suggesting you do drugs, just that you pass me some).

To close the delirium, there's "Soldier Boy," a fragment of an old song looped to repeat "Tell me why" ad interim, then fragmented and effected in a rather ambient way. Even though the first time, I hoped so much that instead of digressing, it would place a nice French-house beat on it, because it would have been a real blast. But it's great this way too.

I don't know exactly to whom I recommend listening to this record and I don't know what remains "concretely" in your hands once it ends, since no (de)composition manages to stay in your head beyond its duration. Personally, it reminds me of how joyful and fun making music can be. And I love messing around with Virtual DJ.