Artcane: Odyssée
Lots of prog fans like to think that their pet genre is a bastion of rugged
individualism. Allow me to blow away the fantasy. Prog-rock is one of the
most self-referential and derivative of any musical genre. It’s a good thing
that prog-rockers tend not to be the litigious sort, as I’ve heard many a
blatantly plagiarized riff, melody and/or chord progression in my day. Hell,
if Peter Gabriel had sued everyone who ever ripped him off, he could never
have worked a stroke after 1974 and he’d still be a very wealthy man today.
I’m generally all right with derivation up to a point. As long as someone’s
influences are wide-ranging and well-integrated, it’s fairly forgivable.
But when it comes down to a blatant single-influence derivation, that’s when
it becomes questionable. Take Starcastle. (Please!) All of their musical effort
was concentrated on cloning every aspect of Yes’ sound, from the synthesizer
filigree to the Rickenbacker bass tonalities to the vocal harmonies to the
spacey lyrics. And while it’s true, one can tire of albums over time. One
can only listen to Close
To The Edge so much before one has gleaned all one can from it.
Though that doesn’t excuse buying a cheap imitation when the original did
it better the first time. Fountains
Of Light didn’t come close to superseding Close To The Edge
back in 1976. And it won’t now.
I’ve heard some people lamely defending some blatant King Crimson imitators using the
specious reasoning that, “it’s harder to imitate King Crimson than Genesis.”
Still, imitation is imitation, and if a band has no identity of its own,
what is their real worth? Couple this with proggers’ long and undying love
for all things obscure, and one can see why albums like Artcane’s Odyssée
are spoken of in hushed, reverent tones.
Actually, upon re-estimation, the Artcane album is better than I’d remembered.
Sure, it’s derivative, but one can see glimmers of individualism shining
through. Part of this had to do with the lineup, composed of guitars, synths,
bass and drums. Part of it had to do with the band members’ obvious desire
for experimentation beyond their musical constraints. It makes me rather sad
that no follow-up album ever appeared.
Odyssée opens with its title song, one of two themes composed
by the band’s drummer Daniel Locci. Dramatic bass and guitar whole-note chords
accompany the drums skittering all round and synthesizers wailing and swooping
on top. Eventually this tranforms into a vacillating, fuzz-tinged synthesizer
figure in 13/8 repeating over descending chords and at last arriving at
a little turnaround. The main melody, expressed on a guitar lead and that
same droning synthesizer sound, arrives in 7/4 time at a more relaxed tempo.
A pattern of solo guitar breaks alternating with countermelodies becomes
the dominant format of the piece. The 13/8 section repeats, ending on a
long synthesizer drone, segueing into…
“Le Chant d’Orphée,” composed by guitarist Jack Mlynski. Muted
acoustic guitar arpeggios are mated with a soft, whispered vocal part. Contrasting
this is a sung verse, done in a suitably Orphean voice, accented by guitar/bass/drums
unison parts for extra drama. Linked by a four-note synth link sounding like
electronic test signals, the above two verses repeat, with the latter joined
by ascending synthesizer warbles. After that, bass and drums vamp as the
synthesizer provides a continuous backing warble for a sotto-voce guitar
solo. The solo guitar is followed by another arpeggiated acoustic part as
wordless vocals creep in and the drums grow more busy. A brief pause is instigated
by the drums, and then the music gradually builds around a very Frippian
riff, ending very suddenly indeed.
Opening around a swelling reversed chord, the intro to synth-player Alain
Coupel’s “Novembre” offers a surprise in the instrumentation: bowed guitar!
Mlynski furiously bows the strings of his guitar offering a suitably cello-like
backing for Coupel’s pianissimo synth melody and Locci’s cymbal accents.
A bowed-guitar drone is gradually enveloped by a crescendoing synth melody,
joined by whole-note bass parts growing at last into a rhythmic bass part
joined by the drums. Finally, the drone gives way to explosive bowed guitar
chords straight out of the Jimmy Page songbook, then turning into an up-and-down
guitar riff straight out of Starless And Bible Black! This goes on
for some time, followed by a rhythmic one-note guitar motive backing a synthesizer
melody line. An improvised guitar solo follows, book-ended by more of the
synth melody. Suddenly, we’re jarred into a much softer passage, with a bell-like
two-note synth riff joined by bass and drums at times interrupted by bursts
of fiery guitar. After quite a lot of this, a powerful guitar melody at
last grows out of it. After a recurrence of the synth riff we’re treated
to a sudden guitar-led coda based loosely on the final guitar melody.
The A-side concludes with another Mlynski composition, “25ème Anniversaire.”
It opens with a very Frippian guitar riff countered by a tremulous synthesizer
countermelody. The passage that follows is in ¾, with the synthesizer
playing gentle melodies over acoustic guitar arpeggios. After a long, drawn-out
cymbal swell, a chordal guitar part appears sounding very familiar. It should,
it was lifted almost wholesale from “Larks’ Tongues in Aspic, Part II”! Only
this time with a synthesizer melody line. The guitar swerves away from the
chordal part toward echoing the synth melody, then melts into an improvised
solo. It all ends on a sustained chord, subjected to heavy reverb.
Drummer Daniel Locci’s other compositional offering is also the album’s
longest and most musically intricate track, all sixteen minutes of “Artcane
I.” We come in on a slowly crescendoing synthesizer drone, joined in due
time by “glissando guitar” chords and a layer of another bleeping synthesizer.
Gradually, the drones are overtaken by a piano-like guitar playing accompaniment
for an airy Mellotron-flute-like solo synthesizer line. The feel, sound
and melody of this passage develop and slowly change for some time as bass
and drums slowly enter. At about five minutes, drums and bass go off on
their own, on a galloping rhythm as synthesizer adds an ascending link melody.
Then the synth starts playing a descending seesaw melody over just bass and
drums accompaniment. At last, the heavily distorted, synth-sounding guitar
adds the odd chordal accent here and there. Then follows a slow 6/8 passage
with an arpeggiated acoustic guitar backed by swooshing synth and cymbals.
The drums and bass gradually form a rhythmic base. Then a piano-like synth
takes place of the guitar, eventually doing a sort of double-time part, where
an electric guitar gradually overtakes it with the original single-time part.
This is thrust aside by a more complex motive, rather fusion-like in conception,
led by guitar. The original descending seesaw melody returns on the piano-sounding
synth as the guitar takes a solo. Gradually, the synth grows more synthetic,
overtaking the solo. Then guitar and bass, by themselves, play slow unison
parts, at last blown away by a filtered sweep of synthesizer. The whole band
returns for a slow melody part based on repeated single notes. This leads
to a faster, “jazzy” section with jangly guitar chords over which the synthesizer
takes a solo, ending on a long, sustained note. Quickly arpeggiated guitar
forms the basis of the brief coda, another sudden, explosive ending similar
to that at the end of “Novembre.”
The album’s closer, “Nostalgie,” is the only other vocal track, and the
only tune on the album composed by bassist Stanislas Belloc. Introduced
by bell-like synthesizer notes, it has a very different feel to the other
songs on the album. Acoustic guitar arpeggios join the synth melody, and
form the main musical base for the first couple of verses. Bass and light
drums come in, and some overdubbed classical guitar parts splash around
here and there. An instrumental passage with a slow synthesizer solo follows,
then some more verses appear, this time with a slow synth melody creeping
in. The instrumental passage from before appears again, this time building
in a gradual crescendo, then closing out the album with a guitar solo.
So, no, Odyssée is not the classic that the vinyl collectors
would have you believe. It is, however, better than average obscure prog-rock.
Rather derivative of King Crimson and, to a lesser degree, the Fripp &
Eno albums, it’s at least not a heavy-handed all-out rip-off like early Bi
Kyo Ran or Anekdoten’s overrated
Vemod album. Their obvious desire for experimentation was only just
surfacing on this release, but said desire was clear and authoritative if
you looked for it. As I stated before, it’s a real shame that the band quickly
spiralled downward into obscurity after this release. Their next album could
have proven to be something really spectacular.
Buy It: Search for Artcane's Odyssée LP over at gemm.com. It's not on CD, and the vinyl is
very rare and likely to be expensive. You were warned.
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©2003 by Progbear