Victoriaville is known as the home of the last manufacturer of wood hockey sticks (they make ‘em with a composite material now). It’s where Merzbow tells you not to smoke in the visitor’s dressing room of a hockey rink (yup). They claim there, like every town east of Montreal, that they invented poutine. Also, Victoriaville is from whence comes our man Charles Barabé. The only way to describe this cassette is “monumental”. The centrifugal compositional force throughout his set of monstrous pillars of tone and evened synthesis around which dance other sounds, field recordings, what have you. If they were architecture in downtown Montreal a bank would own them and I’d skate the things: marble stairs and straight, shiny ledges. Since I couldn’t get my sorry act together to hoof it uptown to get a physical copy, I had to listen off of bandcamp. My jank setup had the Internet throwing me mad shade in the form of French toothpaste ads with a lady talking about gum disease while some awful tune crashed around behind. Not really what I need while I’m checking out Barabé.

Charles Barabé - Les Confessions - A

Charles Barabé - Empreintes - Les monstres humains