Les Disques Omnison






 

!!! New record out now !!!
Reliques de Roses's debut LP
  Order at tom.val.records@gmail.com



"Hmm...

So that newspaper job sent me out on an assignment to track down the French underground wunderkind Tom Val,
just as my editor had scribbled insistently on a fried chicken box.
“Man, things are flying high here. I don’t understand a thing about this mess, but it fascinates me.
Don’t miss him - apparently he’s hard to find. We’re reporting on everything and anything about the Les Disques Omnison team…”

He’d just discovered, one after another, the records by Los Pélieu Lovers, HWYUIOD and Jeanne Gorisse at a friend’s place
that friend who’s a junk food delivery guy by day and a musician by night, with hair on his arms and grease on his mouth.
The boss must have been possessed : way too many adjectives and complicated words.
The rest of the paper mentioned a story of relics, of recording in a cave, libertarian cables, and electronic texts, or vice versa.
Upon arriving in the capital, I decided to forgo public transportation and cross the ring road on foot.

The journey left me pensive; I listened to ---'s and ---- -- ----'s mixtapes to give these industrial wastelands an impressionistic feel to these landscapes drowned in fumes of pollution and advertising.

On my journey, I stumbled upon Arcueil’s cemetery, the last town where Erik Satie had made his home, as if by some omen.
What comes next? A journey into the deepest unknown : a building houses a cave, which houses a cellar where a tiny, slimy theater stage is nestled.
Ectoplasm everywhere, thick curtains, acrid smoke that barely masks the sickly beauty of these sound experiments.
Eyes widen, ears warp, astonishing plants intrude into the synthesizers; the sound effects are nothing but rust and chlorophyll.
A flute, a loop, a muffled voice - nothing human can be discerned on these haunted boards. Liquid metal, fields of cotton.
Who produces this sound and who chants these infernal cut-ups? The ground burns, explosions mingle with the melodies of a tormented piano.
It will take some time to come down and question these sonic chimeras.

We had just witnessed a purely chemical improvisation; on this new collection of improvised home recordings seemingly titled Reliques de Roses
the wunderkind was not alone, stunned to discover the artist Laure Boer at his side.

The fiery duo invented a language on the spot, like a psychedelic drug acting on new senses.
A ceremony of the bizarre, a lysergic cathedral, a nostalgic avant-garde - I was beginning to understand my boss' literary emphasis about this new thing.
I still need to transcribe the interview, but the dictaphone produces only white noise and the sound of a few laughing birds.
Perhaps I cannot make such a dazzling dream come true. The article will be published in the next issue (maybe)."