Benoît Pioulard

Précis

(Kranky)

Record Review

Whereas Sigur Rós evoke the lunar terrain of Iceland and Explosions In The Sky call to mind the expansive plains of Texas, Benoît Pioulard’s Précis sounds as though it is sweeping through the dark regions inside the mind.  It is at once intimate and vast; Thomas Meluch (the 22-year-old Michigan musician behind the mysterious alias) might be singing with his hand cupped to your ear, or in a cathedral, his voice echoing under vaulted ceilings.  In fact, Meluch assembled various field recordings, a few guitars, bells, a dulcimer and drums, and with the help of his iMac’s GuitarBand feature and a dictaphone, recorded this album within the confines of his bedroom.  The circumstances of its creation might lead one to expect a charming, if haphazard, document of a young amateur noodling away his hours between classes; it certainly wouldn’t prepare anyone for Précis, a focused, mature work brimming with grace and beauty.

The shimmering, eventually thundering instrumental opener “La Guerre de Sept Ans” still rings in the ears as Meluch launches into “Together & Down,” a melancholy meditation on mortality that is drenched in rhythmic waves of fuzz and brightened by bells and acoustic fingerpicking.  The entire album is swathed in layers of blurred sounds and atmospherics, the cumulative effect of which, rather than being murky and indistinct, softens and coalesces the disparate recorded components to create a more unified whole.  Instrumentals and soft vocal tracks are interspersed among more muscular songs; the comparatively robust “Triggering Back” is followed by brief instrumental “Moth Wings,” which wouldn’t sound entirely out of place on Brian Eno’s Apollo soundtrack.  This strategic sequencing results in a well-paced album that neither drags nor overwhelms. 

The words are occasionally clear, at times unintelligible, but seem to be primarily impressionistic in style.  “Alan & Dawn” could be a lullaby; it really doesn’t matter what Meluch is singing, as his vocals are woven so seamlessly into the aural tapestry that they serve as merely another layer of sound alongside the acoustic guitar, swooshing cymbal and electric fizz.  Amid vague yet intriguing lyrics, moments of clarity become surprisingly potent: a refrain of “I always wanted you to know/ I never wanted you to go” brings the musically stunning “Palimend” into sharp focus.  Bells, tambourine, acoustic guitar and a more defined rhythm section drive this vaguely Eastern European-sounding song with a haunting, repetitive vocal melody that is hypnotic rather than redundant.  The final bars of “Needle & Thread,” in which the persistent minor melody finally resolves itself, offer a brief yet wholly satisfying relief of tension.  The concluding songs – the mildly agitated “Sous la Plage,” swelling instrumental “Patter,” and evocative closer “Ash Into the Sky” – exemplify how skillful sequencing can create what feels like a narrative arc, abstract but coherent.

It has bewildered me somewhat to come across multiple comparisons of Meluch to Elliott Smith.  The star of Benoît Pioulard’s music is the music itself, not the personality behind it.  While the album might be described as “nostalgic” or “romantic,” Meluch’s vocals retain a certain degree of ambiguity.  He doesn’t force any particular emotion – he invites it.  This subtle trace of detachment gives Précis a compelling flexibility, rendering it suitable for the best or worst of times.