mercredi 10 juillet 2013

DEAD BEAT PROJECT: Samsara (2013)

“Samsara is a nice ode to an Arabian world that only Dead Beat Project can draw with such musical precision”
1 Warrior of the Light 4:45
2 Slough 3:51
3 Original Secrecy 4:08
4 At the 13th Moon 4:26
5 In Memory 2:34
6 Ritual 8:11
7 Mirror of the Wave 6:18
8 Enter the Circle 6:49
9 In the Silence of the Earth 7:19
10 Samsara 6:18
11 Fire Drums 3:56
12 The Harmony of Silence 6:52
13 The Celebration of Behl 4:50

ADMusic | AD118CD (CD/DDL 70:17) **** (Ethnic, cinematographic EM)
Samsara” begins with a mortuary approach. A little as in the old Sergio Leone westerns, bells ring on the West. Pushed by winds, their ringings get mix in the breaths of saddened voices which hum in hollow breezes. The percussions of sands wake up. Rubbing the balls of their maracas, they pepper a dramatic approach which rises in a poignant filmic crescendo where the layers of violins cry in the drum rolls of the ground armies. "Warrior of the Light" sets the tone in a superb album with very theatrical ramifications from Dead Beat Project. Who did not dream to dance in clouds? To be taken by the breeze of winds into ambient rhythms. Seeing the splendid artwork of “Samsara”, this dream takes upper hand on imagination. Those who loved R'Evolution will simply be delighted by “Samsara”; an intensely cinematographic work where the beauties and legends of an Arab world are carried in our ears with all of Olivier Goyet's delicacy. And those who still don't know Dead Beat Project's universe will downright be seduced by this music which is inspired by the choreographies of the dancer Gwan, the muse of the French synthesist who is also present on the album with her very ethereal voice which tells and hums some very celestial poetries.
After a very musical and cinematographic introduction, "Slough" plunges us into the ambient universe of the Arabian astral poetries. The movement is of air and dusts in which float the incantations of a didgeridoo of which the hoarse breaths kiss the celestial voice of Gwan and the tribal percussions which dream more that they forge rhythm. "Original Secrecy" seizes of the finale to enrich a little more the poetry forgotten by "Slough". More musical and clearly more ethereal, "Original Secrecy" floats into our ears of its glass arpeggios like a lullaby that the time had forgotten in the sand dunes. It's very beautiful, but especially very lyrical. Heavy and laborious lamentations stir up the tribal rhythm of "At the 13th Moon". One would imagine being in public markets of the sands peoples with an air of carnival where flutes and dulcimer weave a lively Arabian dance which swirls on the clanic percussions and these sinuous reverberations which had enlightened the intro. After the very ambiospherical "In Memory", "Ritual" brings us near the celestial lasciviousness with a soft rhythm. A morphic and hypnotic rhythm which eats our passivity with the slow strikings of Bedouin percussions where the layers of synths and the ethereal voices float and buzz on a hypnotic pace from which we do not even realize an oblong growth. Winds and thunders bring us up until the seraphic voice of Gwan who heaves a sigh in the vastness of a oozing cave while that slowly "Mirror of the Wave" takes shape and offers a delicate down-tempo which pounds with its line of bass of which the slow drives are blowing of desire for the soft arpeggios which stroll around Gwan's voice. This is another beautiful moment of tenderness which runs away in the oasic breezes and the embers of a fire crackling in nomads' nights. After this intro of ambiences, "Enter the Circle" offers itself at its tribal pace by catching clanic percussions which dust a good line of sequence of which the heavy and nervous chords weave a hectic pace. The musical cloth becomes incredibly dense with this meshing of percussions and pulsations which bubbling nervously under a Berber melody weaved in a dulcimer that Goyet pinches with ardour and in the multiple breaths of synth to tints of oracles, nymphs and sandy winds. Intense and poignant with a rhythm in constant progression which crashes into an Arabian techno, "Enter the Circle" is one of the best passages of “Samsara”. On a morphic rhythm, like a slow spiritual trance, livened up by tribal percussions and ringings of bells which harmonize into a musical decoration, "In the Silence of the Earth" is use as soundtrack to a poem, which we find inside the artwork, recited in French by Gwan and in English by Olivier Goyet. After a slow departure whipped by sinuous reverberations, grazed by evasive strings and hypnotized by ethereal voices, the title-track takes off from a semi-techno rhythm which has difficulty to control its velocity in an orchestral sound density as captivating as stifling. "Fire Drums" wears its title with nobility; it's a fire fed by impressive percussions as much wrathful than harmonious. Noisy, intense and fascinating! Let's say that it bangs and that it disturbs the neighbors. Imagine the eardrums now! After the anger of the percussions, "The Harmony of Silence" offers a very beautiful moment of sweetness with a superb ballad where the arpeggios dance and sing in the chords of a soft dulcimer. "The Celebration of Behl" ends “Samsara” with a swirling clanic dance where the elements of an exhilarating techno à la Jarre resound in ears which swirl as winds and in virgin flutes of which the cheerful breaths are the equal of a story which ends into jubilation.
From ambient rhythms to soft down-tempos which flirt with Arabian techno, “Samsara” spreads its 70 minutes with a delight which keeps increasing. It's a musical work which scrolls its visions with a neatness which pays tribute to Olivier Goyet. We see sand, desert, dunes and oases. We see nomads, craftsmen and merrymakers. We feel the breezes and the hot breaths caressed our dreams. And we hear a wonderful music among which the aromas and the beauties of a world that we would like to caress of our senses seduce with a surprising fascination. It's as if we were there. Beautiful, oniric and extremely musical.

Sylvain Lupari (July 10th, 2013)
Cette chronique est également disponible en Français sur le site de Guts of Darkness, dont je suis chroniqueur sous le nom de Phaedream:

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