The cover of David Fenech’s ‘Grand Huit’ is a drawing that depicts a cat’s head on a human body. With tits. With emphasis on the deep red nipples. It’s fitting, in that it reflects the album’s offbeat hybridity and obtuse, somewhat perverse nature. Originally released in 2000, Fenech’s debut lo-fi odyssey is now receiving a remastered vinyl re-release. And 13 years on, it still sounds, well, odd and innovative.
Sticky trip-hop beats and scratchy peripherals warp against cracked funk to create some curious and occasionally bleak sonic sketches. On ‘Mister Master’, Fenech snarls, growls and coughs (literally) against a loose rhythm and sparse piping synth sound while a crowd hollers and chants in the next room, while doomy synth drones grind against a rhtym carved from a sampled dog bark on the darkly psychotic ‘Heeels’.
It’s a weird record, alright, being overtly experimental yet still song-focused. The forms of those songs are pretty indistinct, though: a strolling bass wanders through a cacophony of whirrs, pings, clicks and yawning discord while Fenech bawls unintelligibly, his vocals riven with overdrive and sounding for all the world like he’s borrowed the Butthole Surfers’ ‘Gibbytronix’. Then there’s the bouncy electro-pop of ‘Petit Soliel’ and the whacky spaced-out funk of the title track.
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The pseudo-enthnic chimes of ‘Jaune d’oeuf en cage’ are accompanied by falsetto caterwauling and blasts of running water. We’re talking about a bath, not a gentle stream as you’d find on a relaxation mood album. Kitchen sink? Well, not far off.
David Fenech Online
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