On their first full-length record, La Faune deliver an epic suburban tapestry.
La Faune is the brainchild of singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Jay Essiambre. Owing no doubt to his career as a producer, Essiambre uses post-production as an integral part of his sonic palate: here, grandiose arrangements and lush digital harmonies vibrate with potential energy. Bitcrushed landscapes are laid before you. La Faune sweeps you up in the nervous energy of anthem after anthem in a spiritual successor to Karkwa.
Essiambre and co harken back to the ethos of a decade prior, the end of the naughties, when the indie rock scene was gripped with a great sense of something, some great upheaval, some revolution just around the corner. A wild fervour that perhaps our generation could be the one. Perhaps we’ve simply grown up and grown jaded, but I haven’t felt this universal agitation coming from a piece of art in a long time. Somehow an Instagram post saying “big things coming” falls flat of the ardor present in the album. In an age of art for hype’s sake, it is refreshing to hear a pop record that unabashedly feels with the kind of youthful stoicism usually reserved for anime intros.
Even the title — Demain c’était hier (Tomorrow was yesterday) conjures this feeling of movement, of rushing forwards towards a future that, if not brighter, is at least ours for the taking. That or a 2004 disaster blockbuster starring Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhaal.
Music is often called compelling, but this record truly compels — it thrashes you around with huge synth stabs, comforts you with gentle acoustic guitars and chastises you into being the best version of yourself.
La Faune’s Demain c’était hier: Music to sneak out of your parents house to wander the suburbs at night to.