BRUIT ≤ - The Age of Ephemerality

A Closer Listen

Much has gone downhill in the news since The Age of Ephemerality was recorded, which makes the album not only prescient, but an album for our times.  The Toulouse, France post-rock quartet, whose name means noise, builds toward a concluding quote by George Orwell, but the evils etched in these grooves underline the knowledge that an Orwellian society is already here.  Noting that in the words of the new leaders, “political opponents are rioters (and) those who denounce genocide are against peace,” the band calls out the global shift toward totalitarianism and double-speak.  Recorded in a 160-year old church and incorporating the sound of the original church organ, the album imitates the prophet’s role.  But while the album is a blast of righteous and justified anger, it also brims with beauty, borne by the brass and strings.

If pandemic times called for comforting music, the new era calls for rage.  The (somewhat) title track, “Ephemeral,” is the only radio-length selection, beginning calmly with an array of strings that fall headfirst into an electronic stutter and a barrage of drums.  Before long, the timbre turns bombastic, creating a widescreen overture.  This makes the later quiet shift to guitar and bass all the more surprising, an alternative that speaks to the title.  The music tumbles into a treacherous sea of guitars, electronics and drums, the beginning of “Data,” a commentary on the exponential growth of technology and its subsequent, dehumanizing effects, sporting soulless advertisements. Quietude again arrives late, this time more of an aftermath, a reflection after having gone too far. “Progress / Regress” extends this sedate tone, though the music wobbles like an unstable victory.  Midway through the piece the electric guitar octet enters, and it all comes crashing down like a massive Jenga set.

All ears are on “The Intoxication of Power,” the album’s 13:13 closing piece.  One can’t help but think that the number is significant, a warning sign of its own.  The finale emerges from the twin forces of “Technoslavery / Vandalism”, a half-sweet, half-salty piece adorned with a men’s choir, ending in church bells.  Beginning with a brass fanfare, the piece takes its time to unfold, sedate and regal as a kingly coronation and aristocratic dance.  But all empires must fall, a message of encouragement for those who continue to fight.

A descending glissando in the seventh minute is the first warning, akin to the first of the seven trumpets of Revelation.  A split-second stop is met by a wailing wall of guitars that builds, brick by brick, until the denouement: Orwell’s words over static hiss, leading to a silent, final accusation. The power and responsibility shift to the listener; the band has done its part.  (Richard Allen)

Postscript: the live version of “The Intoxication of Power” may be even better than the original.  The video was shot 100 feet underground in an active construction site.  As the band writes, “With this atypical choice of location, we wanted to evoke the underground meetings of the French Resistance, opening the door to a counter-culture in the midst of a dystopian atmosphere.”  If such energy can be channeled into music, one realizes it can also be channeled into a new and necessary revolution.