Silence/violence

>> Klaxon Gueule's Alexandre St. Onge manifests the void

by BOSS SAMBOSA

In retrospect, blasting Klaxon Gueule first thing in the morning was probably an inconsiderate gesture on my part, being the guest and all. "What the hell is that," my friend screamed as she stormed out of her room.

"What?" I asked.

"That really high-pitched squeal. It's piercing. It burns my brain."

"Hangover sounds?"

"No. It's on the goddamned CD. Can't you hear it?"

"Nope."

"Well, women hear higher frequencies than men. Ugh. Turn it off."

"When I made those frequencies," says Klaxon Gueule's Alex St. Onge. "I was thinking about the idea of a physical reaction. Also, it's the kind of frequency where, if you shake your head, it totally moves in the space. If you stay still, it can hurt. You will suffer."

Klaxon Gueule's 1999 release Muets (featuring locals St. Onge, Michel Côté and Bernard Falaise) is a sparse electroacoustic mosaic of sudden violence, interspersed with unconventional prepared guitar, bass and drums. A backdrop of wet tones and polyrhythmic pops act as the most linear anchor for the listener, who is bound to experience either fascination or agitation. The difference between Klaxon Gueule and most other electroacoustic music lies in St. Onge's acknowledgment of the listener as being integral to the existence of the music. It's a weird take on the old "if a tree falls in the forest" paradigm.

"For me, the sound as an object is not important. I'm more concerned with the interaction between the perceiver and the sound. Once something is finished, it isn't mine anymore. And everyone's experience is different, it's very subjective. I don't want to do a Nazi object, where I have something to say, and people must understand that. I like to build a neutral space of interpretation, a blank space where people can place their own thoughts."

St. Onge is a philosophical guy who lives and works by a studied laissez-faire principle. He champions moral murkiness and existential grief, but manages to turn it into a functioning canvas. "I hardly know myself, so it would be very pretentious to try to transmit a message to others. I prefer simply to manifest the void, the distance, between us. I like to communicate silence through sound."

Unlike their 1996 free-jazz/punk release on Quebec's Ambience Magnetique label, Muets employs a wide array of smashed electronics acting as unpredictable processors for the sounds.

"The accident-effect is multiplied a thousand times when you use electronics. It's very organic that way. Of course, we used fucked-up machines. I poured acid all over the circuits in my mixer and now it's a very unpredictable synthesizer--it produces 'sound-shit.'" Come to think of it, the whole album kind of feels like the breeding and feeding of a seething sonic animal--"Sometimes, we had no idea where the sound was coming from. It's a nice challenge to try to tame the electronic beast."

With Scorbut at Casa del Popolo on Friday, March 30, 9pm, $5