Le Syndicat
Rectal Strugle

The noise odysseys of the industrial ensemble par excellence, Le Syndicat, thirty years of honored underground militancy, one of those realities for the few, elitist destruction, visceral prolificity, absolute do it yourself. Far too 'hidden' considering its high value, both in terms of quality and purely innovative or creative aspects, not insignificant aspects that this project has shown since its inception and practically in every release. "Rectal Struggle", from 1985, encapsulates each specific trait, always being ahead, having anticipated the so-called power-noise (currently a very lively movement, especially in Germany) by several years, the radicalism, the decay, the heavy experimentation, and the straightforward armory ready to ridicule all that commercialism of those daddy's boys with a thousand keyboards, a thousand trinkets, moreover exploited at 2%. And zero ideas. 

Le Syndicat are heroes, they represent the exact opposite, not only as precursors of various approaches to experimentation or because they are among the clearest examples of the concept of 'musical underground', more than anything their testament is everything that is asked of electronic music, noise, industrial. It sounds English, in the sense of experimental-post-industrial-conceptual, collage-like, gray, barbaric, but it demonstrates the class, cleanliness, geometricism, and precision that made their masters great, the French prophets of that concrete music to which industrial itself initially referred, legendary figures of the caliber of Pierre Henry, Bernard Parmegiani, Pierre Schaeffer, Francois Bayle.

Identifiable as an explosive mix between Throbbing Gristle, the wall of noise of the early Controlled Bleeding, the abstract minimalism of Zoviet France, the nihilist impetus of Maurizio Bianchi, and the concretisms of Parmegiani, "Rectal Struggle" is still largely uncategorizable and best represents their excesses, the very aesthetic of the purest industrial, what it truly means to experiment and a good kick in the ass to the music industry's whores, to image, to marketing, to NIN, to rock idols, to recyclers and majors disguised as independents. Above all, it sounds at least twenty years ahead: rhythmic noise, metal, terrifying dissonances... vocal recordings of poor quality, abrasive filterings, lo-fi harshness... percussive madness, completely annihilated tapes, unsettling drones, symphonies of chaos. So much more, but more simply a fundamental milestone for industrial music and the most free electronic. A point of reference for approaching the syndicate of noise and embracing its grandiose art.