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Rating: Usé is the acronym adopted by the young transalpine eardrum-blaster Nicolas Belvalette for his solo escapades of wave-electropunk-tribal-chanson d'amour.
I've been following this fascinating character for a while: in fact, I discovered his existence on Planet Earth just last week.
From what I understand, the ensemble in which he regularly wrecks everything is called Headwar: an adorable congregation of young chaotic souls from across the Alps who are decidedly deranged but likable.
But don't ask me anything else: not even my Breil or a Lucano.
I've never had the first one, the latter is long gone.
Anyway: the placid Nicolas evidently sometimes gets bored of keeping company with his peers and then, when he’s not running for municipal elections in Amiens (obtaining a significant 2.17% with the wonderful "Party Without Objectives"), he launches into the release of improbable records and then traipses here and there around the globe trying to blow open other people's eardrums.
Now: I don't know how you folks are with the matter of hearing bands live for the first time.
But even for the second time.
Personally, I already find it miraculous that I can make it to the fateful end of the third track without feeling the primordial urge to flee for the hills.
Whoever they are.
From the seismic Noah to the mellifluous Dillinger Escape Plan.
Imagine, therefore, the surprise of managing to reach the end of the concert, or whatever this kind of insane performance was, with a (gap-toothed, otherwise what kind of Jurassic proto-punk would I be?) smile plastered on my face with the desire to hear "more".
The problem is that "more" couldn't be provided because the gentleman, after the last fragment—a schizo version of Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal"—decided to kick and beat the sound equipment consisting of a pair of drums and cymbals, a sequencer, a guitar tortured as a cymbal with which, playing all strictly standing with a decidedly outlandish physical/chemical approach, he organized quite an uproar between percussive rhythms reminiscent of the early Einstürzende and Young Gods and ample ultra-melodic parentheses à la Serge Gainsbourg and/or Charles Aznavour.
To sum it up, despite the prepubescent age, a great one!
After him, for the record, the "highly esteemed" Soft Moon played: exactly, after the third track of more or less mundane copy+paste between NIN and Skinny Puppy in blue sauce, I went to throw myself into the warm thermal waters over there.
They were decidedly much better.
In closing, usual sincere compliments to the stubborn organizers of the Here I Stay Festival reaching its tenth edition this year!
A note of meritorious praise also goes to the legendary sartizzu and eggplant sandwich: it was something memorable that convinced even the most steadfast detractors from all latitudes.
Except for those masochists with vegan inspiration: those, between us, have big problems.
Never as big as mine, of course.
But big.
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