theoreme: l'appel du midi a midi pile

Bruit Direct Disques continues down the path of no-fucks-given with yet another ace from a deck already heaping with bewildering gems. In much the same way as Pier Paolo Pasolini's film Theoreme (1968) once fizzled the corneas of the prim, Theoreme, the artist, is here to singe ears on this blistering solo debut. Laying down all the instrumentation and vocals herself, Theoreme posits that spectres of the past continue to resonate in the contemporaneous milieu of the underground. This isn't some Erik Von Daniken Chariots Of The Gods bullshit - it's the fucking truth. Deep inside the angular ingenuity of this chef d'oeuvre are subtle sonic vectors, analogous to Gutura, SIC and the corrosive side of the German label Zickzack; Channeled or not, the adage remains, "Great minds think alike". It's not definite that the French invented propositional logic, but they sure do guzzle it down. And Theoreme's right there - two-fisted, bellied up and ready for guzzling. You want a cold war? Well son, here it is. Have at it.