Abracadabra

Few singer-songwriters in the Quebec Francophone scene have a knack for drama and dense orchestrations as Klô Pelgag does. Yet, on her fourth album Abracadabra, the two-time Polaris Prize nominee goes for another kind of grandeur: that of big, juicy synths that suggest a retro-futuristic  universe, one that seeks to magically grasp at the beauty of the world while still being aware of its frailty.Abracadabra follows in the footsteps of 2020's Notre-Dame-des-Sept-Douleurs, which was rightfully celebrated as one of the top Canadian releases of the year. As is often the case in Pelgag's work, the title itself already conjures up a series of images and sounds that ties the whole thing together. These are not concept albums per se, but they are "a concept in sound," to quote from Brian Wilson speaking of the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds.In her press materials, Pelgag has referred to the term "Abracadabra" as "a quest for the absolute, like a desire to still believe in something." But the notion of making something appear or disappear just by using a simple word can also be deceiving — the world doesn't quite work that way. It makes perfect sense then that the album plays like a study in contrast, floating between the ethereal (instrumental opener "Le sang des fruits rouges," the delicate piano ballad "Sans visage") and songs that feel designed for the dancefloor ("Libre," standout track "Deux jours et deux nuits.")Relying mostly on synthesizers also allows Pelgag to create an almost otherworldly sound, one that takes  inspiration from a multitude of sources: early 1980s new wave, French pop, ambient, even video game music. Sure, the artist born Chloé Pelletier-Gagnon has used synths before, but her arrangements were generally targeted to suggest an orchestral texture. Here, the effect is achieved by combining sounds based mostly on their timbral quality, like on the multi-textured  "Le goût des mangues," which feels reminiscent of some theremin-filled 1950s sci-fi score.Recorded with a small backing band consisting of François Zaïdan (guitar), Étienne Dupré (bass), Pete Pételle (drums) and Virginie Reid (keyboards), Abracadabra uses other instruments pretty much the same way, altering their timbre to fit the mood and the landscape. Drum machines abound and contribute to this impression of a fantasy world. Elsewhere, a pipe flute appears out of nowhere on the beautiful "Coupable," evoking images of green pasturelands, while string arrangements add to the majestic drama and epic feeling of "Décembre."Lyrically, the album addresses recurring themes in Pelgag's music: childhood fears, the passage of time, death. "Tu dis que ce qui tue pas nous rend plus forts / C'est vrai, à moins qu'on soit déjà mort," she sings on "Pythagore," turning the old saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" on its head. Death is also suggested in the mysterious "Jim Morrison," whose starting point is a trip to the Doors singer's tomb in Paris. Closer "Triste ou méchante" is a more abstract exploration of the darkness that sometimes obscures our path, although its true meaning remains concealed.Given its title, it's perfectly fitting that Abracadabra comes out a few weeks before Halloween. Although not an album of self-transformation, it nevertheless showcases another side of Pelgag, slightly brighter in its sonic qualities but just as incisive and profound in its feelings. Produced by the musician herself, you can also tell that a lot of care was put in picking every sound, but the slick production never takes anything away from the quality of the songwriting. With three straight impeccably crafted LPs (including 2016's L'Étoile thoracique), it seems that Pelgag just can't go wrong right now, no matter what mood, genre or style she reaches for.