The sporadic strums and rattle of drums that herald the opening of ‘Vous Ne M’aurez Pas Cru (Part 1)’ which bookends ‘Preacher Blues’ with Part 2, sounds more like a soundcheck than anything else. And from the sound of it, they need to tune up before doing anything else. But then the song starts, vocals first, followed almost immediately by a minimalist guitar and drum that swing in a carefree, jaunty style that only the French and, perhaps, Tom Waits can carry off without sounding excessively corny. But before long, things have built into an altogether more solid sound, with crashing cymbals, brawling vocals and a strolling bass. It twists and turns, and reminds me in some respects of ‘Hex’-era Fall in terms of its perverse and resolute unwillingness to stick to any one riff, time signature or key for more than a few bars before veering off somewhere else most unexpectedly.
‘L’automne’ begins quietly, the vocals half sung, half-spoken, in a peculiarly accented English, creating a seedy, downbeat feel before a cacophanous mouth-organ shrills into the mix... and before long, there’s a tuba and feedback and... well, it all kicks off in a fashion reminiscent of Gallon Drunk’s ‘From the Heart of Town.’ Beautiful chaos ensues and spills into the moody ‘Hunter’s Knife,’ where Alexandre Jacob tells of more night-time exploits at the wrong end of town. ‘Listen to the song of the killer... Life is shit, the knife is my only power.’
‘This song is about work,’ Jacob announces at the start of ‘Empty Head,’ on which the guitar is noodly, jaunty, to begin, but an unexpected and well-timed key change throws things into a different perspective.
And so the album takes shape: sparse, simple instrumentation and drawling accented vocals (Monsieur Jacob has a cool voice. Not necessarily a great singer in the conventional sense, but he can deliver a lyric and make it work, which is a skill) with numerous sharp turns and a few unusual pieces of incidental instrumentation, with the occasional eruption into big discordant noise thrown in for good measure. It’s warped and divergent, in the same way J.G. Thirlwell’s Foetus output is – distinctive in its embracing of different forms and genres, spanning cabaret (an off-centre brand of which weaves its way through a number of the songs on ‘Preacher Blues’) and industrial metal. So while on one level ‘Preacher Blues’ is all over the shop, it actually manages to be a surprisingly coherent album when taken as a whole.
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Experimental instrumentation abounds, with melodica, banjo, glockenspiel and spatulas all in the mix at various points. The guitars on ‘Hard Pavement’ sound like elastic bands being twanged, and there’s a feel of down-at-heel bluesiness infused throughout. And it’s entertaining and dark, at the same time. At the close, the music gives way to birdsong, like the dawn chorus following a dark and heavy, heady night. Le Skeleton Band’s Frenchness – which, despite singing in English, they make no attempt to disguise, will probably be an obstacle to many, but give this album a chance, because it’s as rewarding as it is odd – not to mention strangely listenable. What’s more, Le Skeleton Band have achieved a rare feat on the debut, in forging a sound which is both distinctive and unique.
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