Vol.II

Bertolt Brecht's verfremdungseffekt is a dramaturgical approach wherein an audience is discouraged from getting comfortable while observing a play, from connecting on an emotional (read: superficial) level with the characters, from disappearing into the world of the performance. Instead, as you watch, you remain acutely aware of the artifice of the proceedings, in order to understand the political and social messaging contained therein, demanding active participation in the desired goal of the work: art that confronts, even rejects, what it means to entertain.Angine de Poitrine are this principle put into practice. Hailing from Saguenay, QC, Khn and Klek de Poitrine delight in challenging the pretence of performance, of rock posturing, of detached coolness, even as they simultaneously embrace it all. In the process, they've dedicated their work to the notion that art can produce a message worth spreading, one that reads "KILL YER IDOLS!" With their sophomore effort, Vol. II, they've crafted a pretty perfect soundtrack to the never-ending battle against conformity, complacency and chords.The record begins with "Fabienk" and a squelching intro that quickly dissolves into a bouncy, polyrhythmic exploration of the boundaries of wood, metal and plastic. It scrapes and hypnotizes from the outset, wordless exclamations echoing between the intricate layers of sound. This is the type of music that polygon-based descriptors — "asymmetrical," "angular," "dodecahedroned" — beg for. Dissonance cozies up to melody; it zigs and zags and then zig-zags again, an abstraction refracted through the band's polka-dotted instruments, multitude of pedals and costumes. Naysayers will undoubtedly resort to calling Angine de Poitring a flash in a pan, one that will never survive the hype. Yet they're a band that have clearly resonated with people. Yes, it's gimmicky, but rock 'n' roll is inherently rooted in the gimmick! From Little Richard's pompadour to Elvis's hips, from the Moptops themselves to Bo Diddley's rectangular guitars, from Springsteen's fractured Americana to the Strokes' cheekbones and Marlboros, the best have always relied on something attention-grabbing that raises them above the throng. Of course it's pretentious and performative, but it also lacks cynicism and hopelessness, and that's something we can all use a bit more of.Vol. II frolics in the realm of public service, of the gathering, of movement and communal dependence — yet there's a ferocity and alienness to the complexity. While Angine de Poitrine are certainly not alone in their explorations of microtonality, experimentation and funk, the music is nevertheless demanding in a way that other popular contemporary sounds are not.While it can certainly be compared to many artists with similar attitudes and approaches — Angine de Poitrine are indebted to several experimental-yet-accessible musical forebears, from King Crimson and Pharaoh Sanders to Battles, Debussy, Marnie Stern, Wendy Carlos, and of course those Gizzards — it's unlike anything one would expect to get, or go viral, today. It interpolates many styles of music, so much so that it feels wizened, as if the sounds themselves and not the players have decided to be eclectic.Tracks like "Mata Zyklek" and "Sarniezz" — with their processed, uninterpretable vocals and spaghettied melange of rhythms, melodies, time signatures and riffs — are practically carnivalesque, Fellini-fever dreams processed through prog-rock-obsessed intergalactic beings. The album is magnetic and serpentine, yet surprisingly manageable, weaving genres and grooves without a care in the galaxy. "UTZP," with its Polka double-time drive, Balkan-esque riffs and choppy guitars, is lively, resplendent, nostalgic. It will also very likely give those with the motherland still coursing their veins a gleeful chill.There's a juxtaposition to the music that screams, "We want you to have a good time," even if it's not about having a good time (probably); "Jump" this ain't, but it's no less joyous, riotous or primal. Just put on "Yor Zarad" and try not to headbang, to thrash, to transmogrify. The aggression and carnality in the noise sets the duo apart from both the egghead noodle-ers desperate to show you their prowess, and the over-stoned experimentalists of the psychedelic world. The freakiness is strong with this one (obviously), but there's also a dedication to song craft and performance — one that finds comfort in chaos, in chance, in the apocalyptic.When a band blows up before an album's release, it inevitably invites critique and rebuttal. Angine de Poitrine couldn't seem to care less about the opinion of anyone other than those in the band. Their compositions — based on hypnogogic repetitions that morph and blend, expand and contract, combust and implode — are endlessly (re)listenable, undeterred by structure or academia. Their music requires listeners to be active in their consumption; to subjectively assign a meaning to the music, its purpose, design and desire. The band's anonymity forces the listener to go beyond artificial or expected implications based on the members themselves in favour of something more akin to a colour gradient: there is no singular intent.In listening to and examining Vol. II, one would be hard-pressed to extract the music from the experience of the band, its imagery and presentation. That said, it's not reliant on those: it depicts rather than explains, demands rather than spoon-feeds. It's instantly recognizable yet fundamentally distant, a succinct pocket of warmth in the cold, meticulous and exploratory vacuum of outer space. It's as captivating as the story and the hype and the outfits — and without the strength of the tunes, it would be necessary to avoid them at all costs. As it stands, you would be a fool if you did. You're not too cool; none of us are. Let's dance to in-between notes and float on sounds bound for the inky blankness of the future. Vol. II — and by extension, Angine de Poitrine — presents itself with a pure lack of self-consciousness. We should all be so lucky.