Benoît Pioulard’s The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter: A Sonic Kaleidoscope That Won’t Leave You Alone
If you’ve ever wondered what happens when dream pop crashes into electronica and folk rock at a crossroads somewhere in the Midwest, well… here it is. Released under Kranky in 2016, this album feels less like a collection of songs and more like stumbling through someone’s brain while they’re daydreaming about the apocalypse. It’s not perfect, but who cares? Perfection is boring anyway.
Let’s dive right in. The tracklist reads like an indie kid’s diary: cryptic titles that sound profound even if they aren’t ("The Sun Is Going to Explode But Whatever It's OK," anyone?). Two tracks stick out for me—mostly because I can’t stop humming them days later, much to my own confusion.
First up, “In-the-Vapor”. This one hits hard with its hypnotic loops and layered textures. Imagine being wrapped in a warm blanket made entirely of static electricity—it tingles without burning. Meluch (a.k.a. Benoît Pioulard) has this uncanny ability to make sounds feel tactile, almost physical. You don’t just hear “In-the-Vapor”; you feel it buzzing against your skin. And yeah, okay, maybe it gets repetitive after a while, but isn’t life kinda repetitive too? See what I mean? Profound stuff.
Then there’s “Anchor As The Muse”, which somehow manages to be both soothing and unsettling all at once. If vaporwave had a baby with post-rock, this would be it. There are moments where it feels like you're floating on clouds, only to have the ground yanked out from under you by some glitchy beat or distant drone. It’s weirdly comforting, though. Like when you accidentally fall asleep on a bus and wake up in the middle of nowhere—but instead of panicking, you think, “Hey, this could be fun.”
Sean Curtis Patrick deserves props for assemblage and art direction—he clearly knows how to stitch chaos together into something beautiful. Oh, and let’s not forget Rafael Anton Irisarri mastering these bad boys; his fingerprints are all over the polished-yet-raw vibe of the whole thing.
What’s wild about this record is how unapologetically messy it is. Tracks repeat themselves, fade into oblivion mid-thought, and sometimes barely register as songs at all. Yet somehow, it works. Maybe it’s because we live in a world where everything already feels fragmented and disjointed. Or maybe it’s because Thomas Meluch just really likes making people question their sanity. Either way, hats off to him.
So, should you listen to The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter? Absolutely. Just don’t expect answers—or clarity. Instead, prepare yourself for a journey that feels less like listening to music and more like wandering around inside someone else’s subconscious. And honestly? That’s kinda refreshing.
P.S. Fun fact: Every time I try writing about this album, I end up wanting to take a nap. Coincidence? Probably not.
