A few words about Ceci n'est pas un cd.
Gossamer -- A long time ago, I knew this guy who thought that gossamer should be made into a positive adjective along the lines of hip, cool, fresh, or rad. In this particular usage, its connotations were to include such things as having an abundance of élan, a suppleness of texture, and a propensity to inspire bliss. He introduced its use into our small circle, but it never really caught on. Nevertheless, it stuck in my mind, and recently came to the fore when I heard Chic-a’s work. This album, as much as almost anything else I’ve encountered in the years since my pal’s failed lexographic project, is gossamer.
Things (besides this album) that are gossamer – paintings by Fragonard, boxes by Cornell, 18th century hot air balloons, a stiletto, spiral galaxies, shear curtains billowing in a warm breeze, a full moon, the Mona Lisa’s mustache.
Light and dark – It’s important to note the presence of the stiletto in that list. Just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean that it can’t also be perhaps a little dangerous. Ceci n'est pas un cd, like most bright beautiful things, casts its fair share of shadows. It may never raise its voice above a whisper—but wise people know that it’s the whispers you don’t dare ignore.
Some musical matters – If I were classifying Ceci n'est pas un cd, I’d use the heading: Synth-Pop, melodic, gossamer. Which is to say that it’s a contemporary sounding record of song-oriented electronica. Its defining characteristic is its lighter-than-air quality (i.e. its echt-gossamerness), its elegant form, and its all-around beauty. Structurally, the music is something like a geodesic dome—it’s light, simple, mathematically sound, and incredibly sturdy. Chic-a mostly sticks to two-chord vamps—a classic form which has supported songs from “Leaving on a Jet Plane” to “Astral Weeks.” Upon this sturdy chassis, she welds graceful, Calder-esque synth lines, that weave and spin in apparent freedom, yet always remain (quite satisfyingly) fitted to their tonic joints. Ultimately, chic-a’s melodic structures—for all their geometric precision--don’t resemble so much a lattice work as they do the vines that might grown upon one—vines, that, happily for us, bear thorns as well as fruit and flowers.
Example 1) “I Used to be Okay” The opening track starts with a syncopated hi-hat and kick drum lick. An oscillating synth line fades in, along with a simple two-note sing-song motif. Suddenly a four-square drum pattern takes over, supported by a gently skipping bass line. These elements are joined by a heavily effected (babified?) vocal track, which is in turn complemented by a third synth line. Like parts of a delicate machine, these separate pieces all work together—sometimes disappearing then returning, sometimes being replaced by other pieces—to keep the song constantly growing, changing, and moving forward.
Example 2) “Bad Boy” The most audacious track on the album starts with a long moment of silence. There follows a kind of living room field recording—the sound of footsteps, of papers rustling and a lighter being struck--and the sound of someone at a piano, working over a tiny little scrap of melody. A mournful little string line wraps itself around the piano notes, and the song, propelled by a heartbeat percussion line, takes off from there. It’s a cinematic effect, similar to those moments in musicals when a song seems to well up of its own accord. And it leads to perhaps the most beautiful moment on the record—an artfully framed solo for toy piano that’s both heartbreaking and comforting.
Example 3) “My Little Red Fish” This track is built around a single-syllable vocal line (ala Laurie Anderson’s “Oh Superman”) and a cascading celeste line that recalls pre-ambient era Eno. It stays in ¾ time throughout, but by adding a subtle snare track about midway through, chic-a transforms it from a wistfully lilting waltz into somberly marching lament. It’s maybe the finest track on an album full of fine tracks.
As for the lyrics -- Like all good pop-artists, chic-a arranges her shiny surfaces in such a way as to reveal, and even accentuate, the depth that lies below. She does this mainly by presenting the listener with lyrics that are personal but not particular. A typical chic-a song finds the singer recounting a past event—or rather, ruminating over the emotional implications of that event—without bothering with the details or circumstances. For instance we know that a boy has done something bad, and that a red fish has gone away, but exactly what the boy did, or why the fish meant so much, remains mysterious. Thus the listener’s imagination is engaged.
Chic-a adds to the mystery by clothing her vocals in many layers of electronic effects (most notably one that sounds for all the world like a toddler). Sometimes two differently effected vocal lines will appear simultaneously, both offering the same first-person narrative—a pair of “I”s, if you will. The effect is both perplexing and enchanting—which is really just another way of saying charming. Indeed, the vocal effects are the chief source of the album’s good humour—the aural equivalent of a wink.
Finally – You’ll just have to trust me. Download this one. It’s pretty. It’s strange. It’s wonderful. It’s gossamer.
Dave Keifer
