Small Cruel Party, Daniel Menche, Francisco Lopez, the Toniutti brothers, Christoph Heemann, toy.bizarre, BJ Nilsen … Just a few names of artists that have releases out on Fern Recordings. A sign that this label is absolutely amazing, and well, being amazing means that at some point, you simply have to do a release by Christian Renou, either under his name or under the Brume flag. I admit I am a fanboy/groupie/admirer. When I order new music at a mailorder that carries “our music”, there are a few artists with a detailed discography for which I check if there is something available I don’t have in my collection yet. These artists are Aube and Christian Renou. I have yet to find sounds from either that did not intrigue me.
So when asked if I would like to review Brume’s “A Treatise Of Ethnography”, I had to think twice (really!) because ‘what could I possibly write’ with this background in mind, without losing my perspective as an objective reviewer. Two things: This scene is relatively small, and the longer you are part of it, the more people you get to know. And being part of it for 30 years… And secondly, reviewing MUST be done objectively because if not, you are not a reviewer but a promotor. And that is one thing I am not. So …
Discogs: “Christian Renou has been making electro-acoustic music since 1978. His first cassette was released in 1985. From 1985 to 2000, and again from 2009, he recorded under the name Brume.” Forty-five years of making music and still triggering people into thinking about art. That is admirable; admit it. However, this CD, which has a total playing time of over an hour, divided into 16 tracks between roughly 1 and 8 minutes, brings you places where a confrontation with the inside of your mind must occur. Because, after all, it IS a treatise. The origin of the used sound sources and Christian’s work on the manipulation direct you into a framework of matching and understanding their heritage and background and, with that: Their meaning.
Tracks like “Railway To Heaven” with what seem to be field recordings from under a train viaduct and the choice of the wind instrument in combination with the title (“Drunk Pygmy With A Microphone”) are directing (maybe even pushing) the listener into a state of mind. For “An Amphibian (Live Sound 1988)” and “No, It’s Not A Plane”, the sound source is harder to pinpoint, but both tracks are strong examples of how sounds can direct a listener into a particular mood. Fabulous material by a fantastic artist. As always.
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