Released in 1972 on French label, Saravah, Brigitte Fontaine’s eponymous second solo album finally arrives stateside.
Deceptively opening with the quiet folk-pop of “Brigitte,” Brigitte Fontaine quickly turns into an avant-garde opus of beauty and horror. Where “Moi Aussi,” a collaboration with Kabyle musician, Areski Belkacem, and “Le Dragon” are more light-hearted in nature, the remainder of the album alternates between short spoken word, seemingly found sound pieces and absolutely frightening passages. “Une Minute Cinquante-Cinq” pairs a chorus of voices with the wailing of one in complete distress while “L’Auberge” recalls a Latin mass aria and “Où Vas-Tu Petit Garçon” sounds like the ranting of a crazed homeless person to a soundtrack of bicycle horns and buckets. It’s the aural equivalent of Samuel Beckett, uncomfortable, unpredictable and just plain weird.
A fascinating, groundbreaking work such as Brigitte Fontaine should not have taken this long to get a domestic release, but, thankfully, it’s now here for our perusal. Get ready to be astounded.
