FLAGORNE "LES COULEURS D'UNE FIEVRE" CD Digipak - DVD Size
— CD audio in a two-part Digibook with matte and worn varnish.
— 8 pages booklet with lyrics and spittle extracts.
— Analog collages by Cioran Records.
S'il s'intoxique de bruit, c'est pour s'éviter, pour escamoter le réquisitoire que le moindre retour sur soi ne manquerait pas de lui faire entendre. La création reposait dans une stupeur sacrée, dans un admirable et inaudible gémissement ; à la secouer par sa frénésie, par ses vociférations de monstre traqué, il l'a rendue méconnaissable et en a compromis la paix pour toujours. La disparition du silence doit être comptée parmi les indices annonciateurs de la fin.»
E. Cioran — Écartèlement (1979)
In all artistic circles, there are these people, “ordinary” but intelligent, who sometimes imagine themselves to be the most talented and the most original. However, they nevertheless retain in their hearts the worm of doubt which pushes them to the point of complete despair — and if they end up resigning themselves to it, they remain infected by the poison of their swallowed vanity. Populating this world with guilty people and dying by some or trying to reign over others, they make it an obligation to choose between nothingness and baseness, displaying their pretenses and their sycophancy, internally calling themselves demons, openly bleeding themselves victims. “Friends in the music business”, as Cursed could say.
Flagorne, an entity nomenclatured by Maquerelle and Afga06l, mingle and observe, devour and reject, imbibe the chromatic illness of this tiring innocence, in the spaces where the universe makes mistakes but takes pride in it : there are what to succumb to delirium and become crazy. Through psychotic rhythms, chanted howls or even psychedelic litanies, the observation like the sword — as a visceral protagonist of massacres — rises, before falling with a crash into a Dadaist and disillusioned chaos. Sense is disoriented — their judgment is suspended over the abysses — the hands are ready — the front will only have to bend, and before it the peaks will sink into the dust.
Delivered to the blind world, Flagorne greets us and embraces us, they welcome us in their miasma while we crawl and gesticulate like pantomime devils. At the end of these 38 minutes and 44 seconds, freeing us from our devilry, the room stops, the play collapse and the loss remains. The masks will fall and under our feet, the scene will return to the depths, mixed with the unfaithful vaults.
