Phédre Phédre

Disparate electronic maestros, Phédre, have dismembered colossal complexity and reimagined its form into a hybrid of eccentric dynamism. Their palette of sound is irrepressibly vibrant and distinct; calling falsetto melody, grumbling bowels of bass and combustive electronic hallucinations into their rain-dance of romantic tragedy. What ensues is the most encapsulating half an hour of textural, liquid sound imaginable. There seems to be no restraint of gravitational depression; the atmosphere is rich with static, electronic particles that await the barking dogs; space-age pings and a majestic ignition of the beat.

Then, ‘All of a sudden, my Aphrodite; dies, she dies.’ Compressing, dissipating and innovating; Aphrodite, amalgamates an immaculate beat with screaming swirls and the defining male baritone.Cold Sunday enters with an incessant rumble, crazy breaks and a bow to daft punk. The sound can descend great depths of density before splintering the tension into hypertonic explosions. There is an intertwining double-helix of bridges which allow a pinnacle for the beat to break a euphoric waterfall of hip-ology

Combining crackling electricity, compressive bass and vocal textures on In Decay creates a flawless epic. Primary melodies find uninhibited rhythm and astoundingly complex yet appealing layers of understated groove. Indescribably filthy baselines counteract the perfect vocal and despite the array of sexual-musical chemistry the lyrics are distinctively mesmerizing. ‘Everything is just an ash, the remains of our love ablaze’; ‘Romance is just a phase’. Words emerge from the depths of the foundations of ideas which develop from simplicity into mindfully complex eruptions. Their essence is born from love and tragedy and the message can be as profound as the bubbling echoes which soar all around them.

Throughout, there are endless interjections of tonality which pierce the sound and allow it to flood with further character. It is eccentric and pulsating to the extreme and you exist within its boundless immortality drawing tirelessly from its muse. Phédre’s pronounced beat and dilating aura refuse to be imprisoned within a single form or expression. So, what is then, if indefinable? Like fucking.