Télépopmusik - Angel Milk

2010-01-14 | |

Another day, another oldie. This time, I've crossed the English Channel and ventured to France for some of the finest trip-hop on the continental side of Portishead. I am, of course, talking about Télépopmusik, the French trio responsible for some of the dreamiest trip-hop of the last decade. While Sneaker Pimps were busy being wordy, Imogen Heap was busy being Zach Braff's favourite singer, and Portishead were swimming in a pool of Bauhaus, these guys were concentrating on the more ethereal, dream-pop side of their respective label. And five years ago, they put out their last album, Angel Milk.

A fifteen track romp through the realms of trip-hop seems a bit daunting at first. It's not exactly the easiest genre to get into, if you're not looking for background music, or you're not drunk, I find. So, when I decided I'd finally get around to listening to this beauty, I wasn't so much pleasantly surprised as lulled into a false sense of security.

It starts perfectly fine. In fact, I could have enjoyed a full album based around the songs it started with and finished with. They were trip-hop of the finest order; comparable with Portishead. They weren't lacking in anything, and they flowed so nicely. Then, jarringly came three songs in the middle, starting with Love's Almighty, which just trudged along slowly, lacklustre and depressing. It was like trip-hop on a massive K-hole.

Sure, the three songs I'm singling out are decent; but, in terms of this album they were a total wall of 'low'. It really did bring a bit of a downer of the whole experience. It went from being such a free flowing album - a river of music, if you will - to like wading through treacle. I think, particularly with Love's Almighty, when they come in and say "Okay, okay, start again" and it picks up the 'oomph!' that they potentially saved themselves from me wanting to turn off.

Still, 15 tracks later, I was still listening to it, and, when it ended on that lovely note, I went back and listened to it again. "I always feel better after I fly
I fly every morning for at least fifteen minutes or so" says the final song. I agree, at least if flying is anything remotely close to this album.

Overall: 8/10 - I think the closest I've got to enjoying foreign experimental stuff this much was Bjork, and even she was a tough cookie to crack. This one just melts in your mouth; saccharine sweet, with the occasional lemon bitterness.

Top Track: Stop Running Away

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