1666... Théâtre bizarre

[Disclaimer – I had written a first review for this release, more than ten years ago. Without claiming that one to be better, a retrospective look was much needed.]

La dernière pierre – The last stone. Indeed, 1666... Theatre Bizarre was once meant to be the final Misanthrope album. In retrospect, one can seriously wonder who, ever, bought into such a claim, even back in 1995. That a resilient, tremendously ambitious young man like Philippe Courtois “de l’Argilière” would put a sudden end to his musical career at the exact moment it started to finally lift off just doesn't make any common sense. It appears much more like another of the multiple publicity stunts, of more or less bad taste, the boy was regularly pulling on the French underground scene at the time. No doubt... however, ironically, 1666... could well have been the final Misanthrope album, though against its mastermind's will.

Because it might as well be reminded that Misanthrope, at that time, was in fact hardly a band, but little more than Philippe’s own personal, ego-driven brainchild, for the good of which he’d previously recruited progressive thrash act Krakkbrain as a backing band. No wonder, then, that when Krakkbrain finally collapsed, so did Misanthrope. This happened, precisely, during the recording sessions of this very album. Kudos to the historian who, one day, might be able to tell who exactly plays what on these eleven songs. I’m ready to bet Philippe himself cannot remember. You’ll still find the Krakkbrain guys, as well as a bunch of additional sessions musicians on guitars, drums and keyboards. EIGHT people, no less, are credited for the arrangements. Alexandre Iskandar, of Elend fame, is brought on the booklet picture alongside Philippe and sole Krakkbrain survivor Jean-Jacques Moréac, most likely because he was the only person willing to compromise himself at the time, though he may not have been more than an advisor on keyboards and orchestrations. Preserve the exteriors, at all cost. Pretend there’s still a band to be found somewhere, even if it’s been like three years there hasn’t been any. The World is a stage. It’s called Theatre Bizarre, remember.

Of course the piece is a patchwork. It couldn’t have been otherwise. Constantly flying to the highest peaks of genius, before falling to the lowest depths of nonsense the bar after. Variations on Inductive Theories (Architecture Screenplans), in spite of its largely improvised feeling, in spite of the sick vibe of the songs and lyrics their author himself couldn't understand, was coherent in its very madness. 1666..., on the other hand, is the product of a much more mature mind, who decided to abandon all coherence for the sake of Art... with, alas, no one left to catch him when he fell.

The production does not help, especially because of strong mixing discrepancies between the keyboards overdubs, loud and clear, and the other instruments, too often muffled down and powerless. The drums show this annoying plastic sound all over the place, the electric guitars, buried, asthmatically cough. At least you’d think that, the vocalist controlling everything there, the voice would be mixed properly. It is not, and it's a shame, considering that's perhaps Philippe's most impressive performance to date, freely mixing all the genres, from certified death growls to... French variété (indeed, Aphrodite marine. Ouch, that one was HARD.).

Sound issues aside, the composition shares its own responsibility in the mess. To put it more elegantly, that’s early Misanthrope songwriting at his most typical: a collection of mini-songs more or less cleverly arranged into tracks. Courtisane Syphillitique, L’autre hiver, or Mylène, are the best example of the genre. Significantly, one of the many riffs from this very Mylène (at 00:58, if you care) will be used again to open the following Trumpets of Hypochondria, and it is unclear whether it was an intentional coda, rather than an unfortunate consequence of the way the songs seem to have been composed, by borrowing from a common pool of riffs randomly assembled. Not to say the result is bad. The whole album is a bonfire, a flourish of inspiration which only asked for being more accurately channelled. But channelled, it was never. As a result, all the songs have their moments, but make too little sense to be totally enjoyable as a whole.

Hence, perhaps, the enduring legend of an avant-gardist Misanthrope – at times fuelled by the band itself. No, 1666... isn't avant-garde, whatever that exactly means. No odd time signature or scale to be found there, nor any improbable instrument. Simply the symptom of a man who, at that time, absolutely wanted to record everything that passed through his mind, forgetting artistic perfection is also about knowing when it's time to stop. Melodic death metal, doom breaks, thrash riffing, acoustic trickling and hints of baroque music, this last feeling being reinforced by the harpsichord sound of some of the orchestrations: all-in-one. From time to time an unexpected old-school heavy metal solo pops in, for instance to conclude Pirouetting through the Gloom, wrapped in the same general carelessness as the rest.

This same carelessness can be felt in the recycling of Le Roman Noir, Misanthrope’s first serious attempt at toying with orchestrations and classical influences, released the year before on a compilation. Here you’ll find the song under the name Schattengesang, with alternate lyrics (in German!), and stripped of most of its orchestral arrangements. An incomprehensible castration, when said orchestrations were, precisely, what made the song unique – we’re talking French underground extreme metal scene, in 1995, remember. Now it’s just another progressive death metal track, a gross way of inflating the album’s length for six extra minutes without much effort.

That’s because Philippe’s efforts, precisely, were focused elsewhere. On the overall construction, mostly. The theatre opens on a sample from classical musicians tuning their instruments, closes on another of enthusiastic applauses from some opera audience. The double page from the middle of the booklet opens like a door to reveal the credits. The Molière concept, which will be central in the band's following years, makes its first timid beginnings. Lyrics, still very poetic, start being at least understandable. The majestic opening and closing tracks – or, more accurately, which would have sounded majestic if properly produced – work as two solid pillars on which all the rest manages to more or less repose, as shaky as it is. And the title track, with its anthemic chorus, complete with Philippe's unmistakable Frenglish accent, rules. Three legs are enough for any stool to stand, indeed.

In retrospect, the general appreciation of 1666... Theatre Bizarre may have been biased by the somehow cult status it acquired once the band achieved national recognition, a couple of years after its release. Twenty-five years later, with Misanthrope being still alive, but long back into the limbo of the French underground, it sounds more anecdotal. Avant-garde? No way. Groundbreaking? Neither: it had the potential, but not the tools, for. Still an album I feel an unexplainable tenderness for. The genius was there – but buried.

Post-scriptum: As no Misanthrope discussion could be complete without its literary or historical anecdote, let’s conclude by mentioning Molière’s famous play the band took its name from was, indeed, written in year AD 1666. However, the alleged quote found in the booklet has nothing to do with Molière, but everything with S.A.S. Philippe Courtois de l’Argilière. Nothing straightforward, ever, with our beloved Misanthrope.

Highlights: Gargantuan Decline, 1666... Theatre Bizarre, Pirouetting Through the Gloom, La dernière pierre