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I don't trust Sebastien Tellier. He looks like a smug bastard with his beard, long hair, and knowing look, while dressing up as a classic concerto pianist on the cover of 'L'Incroyable Verite'. The ironic presentation just seems like one silly joke too far. Which is a shame, because the music Tellier makes is on occasions nothing short of sublime (question to ponder on: Did he chicken out confronted with the beautiful sadness of his music, creating an emotional distance through irony?). 'L'Incroyable Verite' is released on Air's new Record Makers label, and, whilst one could draw some parallels with their brand of spaced-out music, Tellier stands quite on his own. There is no electronic beat on the whole album for one, which accounts for the incredible space in his music. Indeed, Tellier has suggested that he studied 'Dark Side of the Moon' intensively, in order to learn how to get sound right. Nothing here really sounds like that album though, the impossibly lonely 'Universe' and very spacey 'Fantino' are more likely to invoke memories of early 70s Pink Floyd soundtracks, a semi-acoustic psychedelica that seems permanently out of time. Undeniable highlights of the album are both trilogies. 'Trilogie Chien' is a study in sadness: 'L'enfance d'un chien' pulls at your heartstrings with inner loss, and it gets even better with 'Une vie de papa', the forlorn whistles approaching something like a maze of grief (Ah yes, nothing as sad as losing your dog, very perceptive Mr. Tellier.). 'Trilogie Femme' meanwhile has a stunning moment of interplay between an acoustic guitar (sampled?) and triangle, before it moves towards the most puzzling moment heard on record for a long while: the prolonged screaming of a woman, made even more chilling by the sounds of something rotating in the background. It's a truly mysterious moment that is hard to comprehend and therefore remains quite haunting (Not even the Poe-like title, 'Face au miroir', really helps.). With perverse glee the screams will ensure 'L'Incroyable Verite' against becoming the lounge classic that up till that moment seemed to be its destiny. Thankfully Tellier rounds up things on an upbeat note: 'Black Douleur' is a swinging after-hours ditty, somewhere between Waits and Gainsbourg. A fitting end to a surreal journey full of floating daydreams and opiate nightmares. So maybe that's why I really don't trust Sebastien Tellier: His music makes the emotional void of nostalgia, loss, being lost just too real and seductive. Meanwhile the French connection keeps delivering the goods this year.
http://www.kindamuzik.net/recensie/sebastien-tellier/l-incroyable-verit/283/
Meer Sebastien Tellier op KindaMuzik: http://www.kindamuzik.net/artiest/sebastien-tellier
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