Review Summary: Translation: The Field Where I Died
What’s in a name? Well, in the case of this French four piece, nearly the entire character of their brooding sound is encapsulated within the title they grace themselves. Those that know their way around the screamo genre are likely to glance at the name ‘
Le Pré Où Je Suis Mort’ and immediately relate the band to the European screamo scene, and they’d be correct to do so. The name also possesses an almost story-provoking phrase just like those post-rock hermits do; again an accurate connotation to their sound. And of course, there’s the reference to death: a sure-fire way to keep those that poop sunshine out of the mix. Thus, as you can imagine, opener “Vision” wastes no time in pulling you into its passages of minor arpeggios played with a fiery confidence, whilst vocalist Jules spits his angered dialect over the top of crushing melodic climaxes. Le Pré Où Je Suis Mort’s brand of French melancholy is cold and dark, but never quite uncomfortably so. Jules’ unfamiliar tongue is sometimes restricted by the language barrier though, since he often simply recites his verse in spoken word, however during the ferocious breaks of noise his vocal sincerity is enough to persuade your agreement with whatever he yells anyway.
Unlike their European comparables, Le Pré Où Je Suis Mort play in a more flowing style, rather than matching the raucousness of Mihai Edrisch or the hectic fury of Daïtro. No, these guys are more likely to tug on your heartstrings than tug on your neck. The atmosphere throughout is menacing rather than agitated, exampled in “Terre Promise”, its sturdy bass line and drumming nailing tension to all four walls as claustrophobia creeps in. In true post-rock fashion Le Pré Où Je Suis Mort’s songs are typically lengthy, perhaps sometimes overly so, however it could be argued that this merely adds to the depth of the tracks; an intensification on the dingy emotions they awaken. Closer “Silence” exploits what it can from this formula, a 14-minute brute that rises and falls, lashes and pacifies. At times it feels a little plagued with repetition – riffs are usually consistent in their rhythm disallowing for rests and pauses that can help personify a song. Despite this, its final overblown climax hits successively, eerie screeches working deviously with the shadowy guitars during the build up invoking fear as they slither by. Its controlled onslaught of double kicks and distortion eventually fades away, leaving remnants of an ending that’s a little underwhelming, but satisfying nonetheless. A suitable, summarising finish then - Le Pré Où Je Suis Mort’s first offering is indeed rewarding, but somewhat undeveloped ideas prevent it from becoming anything incredible.
