If you're not already acquainted with the prolific Vincent Bergeron (Berger Rond) and his work, then put down the knitting and step away from the television, as you're in for a hallucinogenic experience with few equals. Those crocheting implements are sharp enough to wound, and we saw what can happen to cathode addicts in Videodrome, didn't we? Best not to take chances. If you are, though, intimate with this marvelous lunatic's compelling work, then know that his latest, Mêeme Quand ils se Fâchaient, on Tendait l'Orielle pour Entendre, is of the same high quality as all his output. The guy's artistic to a fault, and God help neoclassicalism should a savvy producer finally tumble to the sublime weft of Vince's mad brilliance, to my mind a perfect blend of a decadent Art Zoyd meeting Eric Salzman (here).
As always, Même Quand is a symphonic-operatic-nihilist set of opuses without any real need for separative distinctions, everything melting into everything else, linearity very present but also completely unnecessary, a maddeningly delicious never ending collision of incidentals possessing more gravity than any main forces could hope for. Everything echoes, loops around, reverses, bores through walls, seeps up from the floorboards, and then metamorphoses before your very eyes (ears). Nothing is trustworthy yet everything is palpably material as a forever-pained laconic voice wails threnodically like a broken-winged harbinger of collapsing apocalypse. Well, hell, here, listen (and see) for yourself:
I'm telling you and I'm telling you and I'm telling you: this guy is a rara avis, certainly not for everyone, neither were Kafka and Camus, but an iconoclastic stand-alone that fans of Zappa, Beefheart, Art Bears, LaMont Young, Butch Morris, Mike Keneally, Pere Ubu, Copernicus, Henry Cow, and other luminescent way-whacked-out artists should be heart and soul into. You only get just so many chances in life to hear art like this, and Berger Rond has supplied a bevy of discs so that you have no excuse any longer in not getting hip to the hellbrew he ladles out time after time after time. Our global inheritance is insane, broken, discombobulating, foreboding, and nerve-shredding……so why not have a soundtrack for it?
Edited by: David N. Pyles
Copyright 2014, Peterborough Folk Music Society.
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