One of France's most idiosyncratic talents, Tazartes has since the mid-70's mined a sui generis universe of berserk intoning and wailing glossolalia vocalization, rough hewn tape collage and loose ethno-instrumental mulch, all elements frottaging each other against their inherent grains to much screwy amusement. This late 90's work does to a certain extent temper some of the more proactively fucked and densely layered machinations of his 70's era recordings, though however much he might have reigned in his displays, this is still the work of a world class mad hatter. The start of the eponymous title suite begins with Tazartes in maximal looning-in-the-shower mode as he cheerfully bleats along with scratchy old 20's era 78's; a bare-bones first salvo for a suite that's amongst Tazartes sparsest. It's a deeply mental display, yet oddly effecting in some inscrutable fashion and it's precisely this sort of ferreting out of latent emotionally charged content in the middle of dadaland that is a hallmark of this inscrutable character's whacked methodology and self-evident genius.
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