For nearly a decade, Mexico’s Murcof (Fernando Corono) has been quietly honing a sound all his own: a post-industrial, neo-classical blend instantly recognizable to those who have heard him before and startling to those who have not. The Versailles Sessions is his fourth original full-length album, and his fifth release overall. Last year’s Cosmos seemed ill-fitted to his haunted mélange, more science fiction than suspense. The Versailles Sessions is a return to form for the artist, a clarification of themes introduced on his debut album Martez and its more refined successor, Remembranza.
The Versailles Sessions was commissioned for 2007’s Les Grandes Eaux Nocturnes, “an annual festival of sound, light and water at Versailles” (this year’s festival featured the Tokyo Ballet, Horses of the Night, and fireworks. YouTube it, you won’t be disappointed). The event celebrates the life and legacy of Louis the Great, Europe’s longest-reigning monarch, dubbed “The Sun King” because of his insistence that his nation’s people revolve around him like the planets around the sun. Louis XIV also believed in the divine right of kings, which caused him to pursue an absolute monarchy; for the most part, he succeeded.
Murcof’s tribute seems at once respectful and mocking, as if betraying a grudging respect for the king who consolidated the power of the ruling class, while winking at his death from gangrene. While Murcof uses period instruments (violin, viola da gamba, harpsichord and flute), his performance is distinctly modern. The overall effect is one of mystery rather than of majesty, with cinematic qualities reminiscent of “The Madness of King George” rather than of “Marie Antoinette.” While listening, one can imagine the debris of decadence: deserted corridors, ripped stockings, crumbling cake – the palace after the peasants have gone, après la revolution.
From the very start of “Welcome to Versailles,” menace is in the air. We hear clanks, whispers, disjointed tangles of strings, as if someone is pounding on an open piano. Then a pounding: unrelenting, merciless... something wicked this way comes. Ominous bass notes enter at the five-minute mark, followed by sheets of synthesizer, like hail on wind chimes. The violin takes center stage in “Louis XIV’s Demons,” but deserts the track for wide stretches, allowing it to descend into silence – one of Murcof’s trademarks. On the third track, a mezzo soprano enters, her elegant melisma eventually melting into harpsichord.
When these elements resurface on the fourth and fifth tracks, the album’s architecture begins to emerge. We are able to admire Murcof’s work on a conceptual level, rather than on a track-to-track basis. The titles of these selections – “Death of a Forest” and “Spring in the Artificial Gardens” – hint of a hubris that failed to outlast the king. Of course the music is haunted; it reflects a kingdom that was materially abundant, but spiritually deficient.
The final track is one that Murcof probably would have been executed for, back in the day. The piece begins benignly, with flute being played at march tempo. Then the electronics enter, and for the first time on the album, we hear an actual drum beat. With this piece, Murcof brings us out of the dark, blinking and rubbing our eyes. In the same fashion, he invites those who admire the Sun King to reconsider the dangerous aspects of his legacy: an addiction to absolute power, coupled with religious justification. When seen in this light, Louis XIV’s story becomes incredibly relevant – a warning to modern society, to monopolies, power brokers, and would-be despots. Perhaps this is not what the organizers of the festival had in mind when they invited Murcof to perform, but they are to be congratulated for embracing historical reevaluation as well as musical modernity. The Versailles Sessions is crisp, complex and contemporary, a minor key masterpiece and a fine addition to Murcof’s canon.
-Richard Allen