by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
With a name like Melody's Echo Chamber, you'd rightly expect a deluge of feel-good vibes and bountiful psychedelia. But Melody Prochet's musical output is so much more complicated than that — in a lot of ways, it’s just as much based upon ideas of suffering and destruction.
Her self-titled debut LP (from 2012) only came about because she asked Tame Impala's Kevin Parker to play Humpty Dumpty with the 11-track effort. Then, 2018's Bon Voyage was delayed roughly a year after Prochet suffered a brain aneurysm in spring-summer 2017. There's something about this chaos that perhaps inspires something profound within the French singer — like that resulting sorrow and madness gives her a sturdy context to forge something otherworldly.
All that proves doubly true for Prochet's third album, Emotional Eternal. As if becoming a parent and experiencing some other, mostly unexplained personal issue weren't enough to inform the proceedings, the LP's mere release date/timing makes it yet another "COVID record." But from that comes a career high point, and a collection of eight staggeringly beautiful tracks.
The thing about turning grief/pain into something much more transcendent is that it's not a linear process; Prochet knows this quite well, and uses the record to provide a few different configurations. "Looking Backward" is the shimmery love-child of effervescent dream-pop and vaguely retro disco — a sensuous mix that belies the song's poetic exploration of a love that cannot be. Meanwhile, "The Hypnotist" ups the sensuality as Prochet delves into her native French — and that core of longing and loss translates effortlessly, colored with a passion that can soothe even the most shattered heart.
Often, the album can feel stuck in this mode — deliberately transmogrifying pain into heartache. Yet it’s never in a way that's ever irksome, but rather a clear message from Prochet. This message of overcoming grief is spinning a string of what could've beens into something that makes reality a little more manageable. There's a comfort in this focus, and Prochet has the lyrical depth, vocal prowess, and endless emotionality to let you feel the process of her transcendence. It’s less about foolishly limiting emotional pain, or trying to focus solely on the good in life. Rather, Prochet has a firm grasp on those elements that are most resonant or powerful, and she translates things into little aural care packages of heartfelt musing and pristinely pure expression.
So, when the album does shift even a little in terms of the sonics or overall content or mode of delivery, it feels like a big enough occurrence. Musically speaking, "Where The Water Clears The Illusion" isn't a massive leap forward; it's the same sort of ethereal take on some alternate universe Fleetwood Mac. But lyrically, tidbits like, "I’ve seen a little something there/Where the water clears the illusion" feel like a big wink from Prochet. Which is to say, this clear recognition that she knows what matters beyond these big books, alt poetry lyricism, and endless romantic nostalgia.
Because of this display, she’s cleared us a path into her true inner life. We see what she's overcome, how it maintains an ongoing presence, and how she can continue to move forward. It's a surprisingly powerful observation, but it packs so much power in the grand scheme of this record. It’s a moment of raw emotion holding the body of just another unassuming pop song, and that dynamic makes this another deeply effective example of Prochet’s subtle skillset.
Speaking of standouts, you can't forget "Alma." The version we heard first is a three-ish minute ode to Prochet's daughter, an even more retro-leaning folk pop smorgasbord of gorgeous guitar and lyrics that practically spoon you with every note. Again, it's a little moment— namely the line, "I'm so happy and so proud/Asking nothing to prove myself/And your love's enough" — that has true cosmic power. It's Prochet's acceptance that, whatever has come before, this perfect little creature is plenty worth it.
It's ultimately an acceptance not of what has to be, but of the true power of what comes beyond. Figure in that there's a longer, nigh-seven-minute version (that's apparently the proper closing track), and Prochet's efforts become even clearer. Those extra minutes -- all mournful horns and ambient noise -- feel like both the soundtrack at a funeral pyre and an invocation of sorts. A moment for Prochet to bury what was and accept the world for the pure magic it actually contains. Either version, though, feels like a compelling construct and differs enough to show the nuances of Prochet’s sonic/narrative M.O. with this record.
It's easy to think of records on a kind of binary, either being overly sad and contemplative or especially happy and less thoughtful. That structure makes things easy to accept and ensures songs are more readily digestible, especially if we see them as yet more direct pop tunes, but as Prochet demonstrates on this record, emotions are infinitely more complicated — and thus all the more interesting. It's quite possible to mourn what was and accept what is and hope for a greater future all in the span of a single note. It's more noble to accept a jumbled mess of emotions and ideas than it is to compartmentalize feelings. Life is messy, and by sharing that message through these perfectly constructed pop songs, Prochet seems to have landed on a capital t Truth.
In breaking down walls between her joys and her sorrows, Prochet has found a larger peace and a framework of profound insight. She’s not only turned this wellspring of feelings/ideas into great music but artifacts imbued with layers of life, history, and glorious context. It's never nice to wish someone a complicated life, but if it’s Prochet we're discussing, a little adversity could continue to make the world a touch more magical.