by Zachary Mercado (@ciaoguaglione)
Charlotte Marionneau may be your favorite musician’s favorite musician, whether or not you know it. She has made three full length records, each in decade intervals, starting in 2005. Each in turn has been a righteous artistic expression, unapologetic, apportioning equal time between deep dives into the pain and darkness of the psyche and dipping the big toe into the shallows of play and heart on the sleeve romance.
Perhaps another metaphor: imagine a far-from-home antique shop or left field museum a parent took you to, with objects both lovely and grotesque, macabre and twee, that sat deeply in the basement of your mind until now. One more: think of your dreams, but not the dreams themselves; rather, the lingering feelings just after waking — both the sweet ecstasy of exhilaration or romance, or, on the other hand, the ache of disappointment or angst-producing near-death fright.
All that is to say, each of Marionneau’s records as Le Volume Courbe elicits those ranges of emotions. No two songs are alike, but the thematic elements—in their array and range of musical modes—feels consistent, apposite.
On Planet Ping Pong, Marionneau exhibits similar tricks but at the most effective they’ve ever been. With highs in deceptive minimalism and genre experiments, the production quality of is superb, all done by Marionneau, herself. It certainly feels like another decade’s worth of work, of meditating on musical themes and lyrical ideas. The sound quality is direct and forceful, even in the most guileless moments. It’s the project’s pinnacle thus far.
On wistful tunes like “The Moon Song” and “To Know Him is To Love Him,” the experience of following and thinking about a human object of affection feels both sweet and not completely obtainable. There’s wisdom there, but also an ever-present yearning in spite of years of experience or heartache.
Despite Le Volume Courbe’s elevated production quality, a hint of Daniel Johnston’s sweetness and playful naivety remains. At times, the record feels indebted to Vashti Bunyan and the nursery songbook quality of some of her work, like “Duffy and Mr Seagull.” The narrator appears to truly grasp childhood memories, feeling real sympathy and understanding of a child’s experience.
But the record turns quite dark. Recall those lingering feelings, perhaps after a nightmare—the temporary terror, the shock of it all. We’re literally ping-ponging here, (“Two - Love” feat. Noel Gallagher being the ultimate literal ping-pong) perhaps between emotional states of being.
On “Mri Song,” the claustrophobia of the recording sets in and creates a different tone, as the actual sounds of an actual MRI close in. The album closer “Planet Ping Pong” feels defeated, whether about the state of the planet, the state of the world, or the state of the mind, its own microsomia.
For a record that opens with jazzy muted trumpet, and moves into the sweet words, “I follow you up to the moon,” the distance travelled to another world of suffering seems wide. But it also feels true to the human experience, and Le Volume Courbe has magnificently captured that range on this record.