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This era that has been assigned to us, this foolish, hypervitaminized, multifaceted, megabyted, multimedia-infested, and profoundly vulgar world that clogs the pores of every reasonable person truly leaves nothing unturned. In short, is it really surprising that its system of values, in the bleakest logic of "dog eat dog," has corrupted, distorted, mystified, and automated the perception of human life?
Everything is a scheme - graphically rendered thanks to the appropriate x and y axes - everything is competition - with numbers, classifications, and all the trimmings - everything is a race, against time and against others; a philosophy that trivializes the miracle of personality relegating it to the narrow spaces of existential athleticism (otherwise known as "poor man's war") that begins the moment we are ejected from the womb.
You know right? "Ready, set, GO!!". And here comes a new runner ready to lick any butt or sell any relative to get just one centimeter further.
However, one might consider that this "Ready, set, GO!!" might not be the only interpretation of the event in itself: birth could also be understood as a countdown, the end of something, a "3, 2, 1, 0!"; yes, because in the end we already existed in our mother’s womb and by exiting her body, in one way or another, we carried with us a stock of stimuli enriched for nine months during which we were the sole inhabitants of another universe: smaller for sure, but no less intense.
Marc Leclair (aka Akufen) reminds us of this, a Canadian DJ who composed this electronic jewel for his wife and two of his friends who became pregnant at the same time. Music for 3 pregnant women and a whole world for their unborn children.
Is this how the digital Brahmā conceives of the Creation?
A place marked by the pulse of a polychrome and polysemic micro-house where constantly evolving rhythmic figures focus, climb, and contort on dry glitch hysterics reminiscent of Alva Noto's "Transform".
An intricate copy/paste job that assembles, disassembles, and reassembles synthetic acrobatics on typically ambient stretches; an album that continuously alternates between trot and gallop where Leclair's steady hand, like a seasoned coachman, spares neither the whip if the track is too sluggish nor the sugar lump if the muscles are too tense.
A world in miraculous balance between action and meditation, between oceans and lands, between high and low pressure, and if downtempo flashes are always the prelude to sudden surges or decelerations, the measured use of field recordings seals the sound continuum giving it a warm and soothing organicity.
An album that aims essentially to be an invitation to dance, a calibrated and sparkling experimental electronic music that flavors the amniotic fluid, a minimal-techno for the small hearts of future captains of (mis)adventure.
But will it really be so? I mean, is "Musique pour 3 femmes enceintes" really a concept dedicated to intrauterine life or is it just a misleading/surreal/phony title? It cannot be completely ruled out that my warped mind had its part in this.
In any case, the beauty of Leclair's work remains and then what can you do, each of us defends ourselves from this cesspool called world with whatever means we find most appropriate: I try to maintain a certain taste for quirky transcendence in my accents, habits, and customs.
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