He was a skinhead, then he no longer was, then he is again. Wait, he most probably isn’t. When Famine, Peste Noire’s main man, returns with an album full of ridicule nationalist lyrics he can hardly be taken seriously. Everything is just too grotesque here, and it’s obvious the guy doesn’t mean a tenth of what he’s writing – or recording. Peste Noire used to play black metal, you know. But frankly, when I first listened to this, it reminded me more of Marilyn Manson or CocoRosie than of metal, be it black or not. At least its title is a tad less dumb than Folkfuck Folie, the band’s previous output, but this is because it couldn’t have been worse.

The production isn’t bad – it’s scandalous. That some bands which could afford expensive equipment instead deliberately choose to record on cheap material to get a specific raw sound is fully understandable, especially in black metal. However, this isn’t what happened here. It indeed seems like Peste Noire used high quality material and, later, artificially distorted pretty much everything. Raw should mean, well, natural. Ballade... is the epitome of a fully ARTIFICIAL record. The sound jumps, the echo, the awkward effects, everything sounds computerized, and probably is. The guitars are amongst the most distorted I’ve ever heard, to the point it becomes totally unpleasant, especially with highest notes. However, the worst treatment has been kept for the voice. There’s hardly a moment Famine’s already sick vocals sound natural, totally lost as they are into a synthetic stream. Unbearable.

But this isn’t enough as, probably thinking having made the production a complete joke and having made no less than HALF of the tracks consist in interludes which are complete jokes as well wouldn’t be enough if the musicians weren’t, in turn, complete jokes by themselves. The presence of Audrey Sylvain on this album can only be justified by the fact she’s now Famine’s slut after having been Neige’s, as not only her talent is virtually non-existent, but (or, more likely, because of this) she’s almost exclusively appearing on the interludes, which as written above are inherently worthless: silly sound effects, a bunch of piano/organ melodies written while taking a shit (and as my Sri-Lankan friend used to say, all you’ll do on the throne is doomed to be shit), and as a crowning achievement a song from Action Franзaise, a now gone extreme right-wing movement. Of course as a singer Miss Sylvain is pathetic, and as an organist she doesn’t prove anything either – in fact, Famine could have played her parts himself without any loss. Now as anyone equipped with a semblance of a brain will skip the interludes anyway, there’s no need to develop more. The drums are much more of a problem.

Indeed with Winterhalter Peste Noire had found a perfectly decent drummer (though he’d never displayed stunning technical skills either), and I don’t know the reasons behind his departure – I couldn’t care less anyway. Probably did the guy still want to play black metal, what a weirdo. And again, Famine obviously recruited the WORST drummer he could think of, the guy from Nuit Noire; Nuit Noire being one of those bands which would justify the human cleansing he now seems to be advertising so loud. I guess at this point he could have put either Audrey Sylvain, a lobotomized monkey or Luc Mertz Himself behind the kit, it couldn’t have possibly sounded worse. This isn’t black metal drumming, in fact this isn’t drumming to begin with, this is a guy hitting a drumkit, what’s totally different. It’s not even a question of technics, it’s most of time a question of keeping in pace with the rest of the band. That’s downright pitiful but, again, this is likely to have been done on purpose.

It becomes thus obvious having a closer look at the songwriting makes little sense. The songwriting becomes anecdotal - it was meant to be so. However, each of the five real songs still has its own specificities. The best track and, in fact, the only track of the whole release which should be taken seriously is the closing Soleils Couchants, probably because it sounds closer to the style Peste Noire would have been better sticking to: the melancholic, plaintive, decadent black metal of their first full-length. Of course it’s only after two minutes of hesitating chords and awkward effects (frogs? toads?) the song really starts, of course the sound is as obnoxious as on the rest of the album, still for once it seems Famine has put some effort into the writing and recording. Let’s guess Paul Verlaine, this immortal wretch of a poet, washed up, alcoholic, homosexual at a time it wasn’t particularly trendy, wouldn’t have minded having his text backed by such music. And at least, it suits Peste Noire better that those wannabe-nationalist themes.

Apart from that... La Mesniee Mordrissoire is a typical, though rare occurrence of a song so bad it becomes good again. There Famine is not only overtly taking the listener for a perfect moron from the first minute to the last, but seems proud of his own (feigned) stupidity – even if the rest was offering some semblance of talent, what of course isn’t the case, the ridiculous opening chant, the both drunken and senile delirium at 3:14 as well as the repeated Sieg Heil!, pinnacle of cheap shock-value-only retardation, would be enough to completely discredit both the song and the band. But you know, you just HAVE to listen to this, it’s UNIQUE. Thank the Gods for this, some might add – I won’t. A la Mortaille is the fastest track of the album, the most reminiscent of the punkish material of Folkfuck Folie, and also the track topped by the most distorted vocals – yes, here it means A LOT. Draw your own conclusions. Rance Black Metal de France sounds like a more black-metal oriented version of La Mesnie Mordrissoire and should be remembered for little more than the punctual apparition of a harmonica Famine obviously doesn’t know how to play. Amazing. Eventually Ballade Cuntre les Enemis de la France has the medieval vibe one could expect from music written to accompany a text from Franзois Villon, the famous French wicked medieval poet, but as everywhere else the odious production just kills everything.

Don’t get me wrong, Famine is a very clever man. Paradoxically, this album proves it. He wrote the worst music he could ever think of on purpose, and wrapped it in the worst sound he could ever achieve on purpose. The talentless musicians, the dumb nationalist lyrics all serve the same purpose. Provocation. You know, I referred to the infamous Marilyn Manson on purpose as well. Guess what my purpose is.

Highlights: La Mesniee Mordrissoire, Soleils Couchants

by Sean16