Laurent Rousseau ‎– Y'a De La Nonne

L’Oreille Electronique ‎– OE 005
CD, Album


1 Untitled 2:59
2 Untitled 2:57
3 Untitled 3:29
4 Untitled 11:29
5 Untitled 3:02
6 Untitled 4:04
7 Untitled 6:47
8 Untitled 5:03
9 Untitled 2:20
10 Untitled 3:46



Recorded, mixed and mastered March 98 at D.M. Studio Limoges, France.

This disc is produced by l'Oreille Electronique with Le Soutien de la D.R.A.C. du Limousin, du conseil general de la haute-vienneet de la region Limousin.


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May 13, 2012
On the surface, not a lot actually happens on this album - it's a threadbare sprawl, minimal with a lower case 'm'. Split between spartan instrumentation, floor-up junk rhythms of almost primal construction and spoken word monologues in languages I cannot place. There's a lethargic Jazz influence here most obviously depicted by the raw-wire sound of guitar which nods towards a variety of musical genres, from Country and Blues, through Industrial mood, yet stays mostly in the world of Jazz

But it's saved from pointless self-indulgence by the overall atmosphere, which is one of relaxed mood music - I wouldn't call it Ambient in the accepted meaning of the word, but nevertheless a trip through easy listening images. At best it slows the world down a little and makes for charming background music. And where it chooses to experiment, it does so with sleeves rolled up and an expression of dogged determination.

Certainly the guitar playing itself is impressive, moving from some handsome plucked patterns, through more abstract experiments where strings are mere wires to be hammered, rubbed and messed with to great effect, at one point seeminly replaced by an almost muted hammered dulcimer before returning to almost anxious note clusters. This seems to work best as a kind of two track music - the raw wire to the forefront while mood noises wash and warp gently in the background. There's even some impressive indulgences in the field of feedback, set against muted (presumably 'found') voice. It even transcends momentarily into Funk (brief forays which are more improv anomalies than full-blooded attempts at structured playing).

Early on, a po-faced monologue makes for an almost ritualistic sound, as if some old cylinder recording of Crowley had been cleaned up to CD quality and inserted amidst the atholls and islets of music. Industrial music seeps in at one point with a factory ambience, trying to form a rhythm harsh enough to alter the course of the album, and for a while almost succeeds. Short wave radio makes the briefest of appearences at the conclusion.

For me at least, this is an album which has grown in stature the more I have listened to it. Every listen seems to unearth some new wonder, and I feel there's a lot more to discover as time goes by.

Originally reviewed for Metamorphic Journeyman.