Alibi by Jacques Tremblay: A Wild Ride Through Sound Collages
Alright, so let’s talk about Alibi, this super trippy album from 1969 by Jacques Tremblay. It’s one of those records that doesn’t just sit in the background—it grabs you by the ears and shakes you around like a ragdoll. You know what I mean? It’s electronic music with an avant-garde twist, but more specifically, it falls under this style called Musique Concrète. If you’re not familiar, think of it as sound art where everyday noises get chopped up, screwed around with, and turned into something completely unrecognizable yet oddly beautiful.
First off, big props to the team behind this thing. You’ve got Jacques Tremblay doing all the composing—he’s clearly a mad genius—and then there’s Jean-François Denis producing, Claude Schryer handling transfers (whatever that means exactly), and some cool cover design work by Mark Mushet and Luc Beauchemin. Oh, and shoutout to Empreintes DIGITALes for putting it out in Canada way back when. This wasn’t your typical “pop hits” kind of release; it was made for people who wanted their brains rewired through sound.
Now, onto the tracks. There are nine total, and honestly, they blend together if you’re not paying close attention. But two really stuck with me: “Rictus Nocturne” and “L’Intrus Au Chapeau De Spleen.”
“Rictus Nocturne” feels like walking through a haunted junkyard at midnight. There’s this eerie metallic scraping noise that keeps coming back, almost like someone’s dragging chains across the floor. And then boom—a sudden burst of high-pitched tones cuts through like a knife. It’s unsettling but also kinda mesmerizing, y’know? Like, you wanna run away, but you can’t stop listening because it’s so weirdly captivating. I kept picturing old black-and-white horror movies while this played—super cinematic vibes.
Then there’s “L’Intrus Au Chapeau De Spleen,” which is basically the musical equivalent of overhearing a conversation between aliens. There’s this low hum that builds slowly, layered with these strange clicks and whirs that feel almost... mechanical? Organic? Both? Hard to say. The whole thing feels like it’s alive, breathing, shifting constantly. By the time it ends, you’re left wondering if you dreamed it or actually heard it. Super haunting.
What makes Alibi stand out is how unapologetically experimental it is. It doesn’t care if you “get it” or not—it’s just throwing sounds at the wall to see what sticks. Some parts feel chaotic, others hypnotic, but every track has its own personality. It’s not background music; it demands your full attention.
Here’s the kicker though: listening to this album felt like eavesdropping on history. Back in ’69, most folks were probably jamming to Woodstock bands or grooving to Motown, and here’s Jacques Tremblay making alien symphonies in his studio. Makes you wonder how many other hidden gems like this exist, right?
Final thought: if you’re into stuff that challenges your idea of what music even is, give Alibi a spin. Just don’t expect humming along or tapping your foot—this one’s gonna mess with your head in the best possible way.
