Maison Close — Self Titled

This is the 2012 re-issue on Force Majeure – a sub-label of Lille-based industrial legends Nuit et Brouillard – of the debut, and to date only, album by French dark atmospheric / power electronics project Maison Close, based on the 1971 anti-war movie ‘Johnny Got His Gun’ (which will no doubt be familiar to most through the Metallica video clip ‘One’ which is based around it), in turn adapted from the 1939 novel of the same name by American author Dalton Trumbo.

Originally written around 1998, the album closely follows the plight of private Joe Bonham, the novel’s main character, who wakes up in a hospital bed during World War One only to realise he has lost his arms, legs and part of his face in the explosion of an artillery shell. Each of the twelve tracks documents a particular passage of the story, with the use of particularly effective soundscapes and various samples from the film.

Obviously, given the rather heavy nature of the subject matter, it is hardly surprising that the aural transposition thereof should gravitate toward the noisier, more punishing end of the musical spectrum, oscillating back and forth as it does between the anger felt by the main character at the remorseless inevitability of his miserable condition and the drug-induced reminiscences of his past life. Navigating in the same murky waters as bands like Anenzephalia, Con-Dom or Dagda Mor, this is definitely one for the seasoned industrial aficionado.

In turns violent, ominous, unsettling or reflective, the music, which was crafted using analogue equipment but also incorporates object manipulation and environmental noises, will take more than a couple of cursory listens to digest and should be approached with the usual reservations by those who favour the gentler categories of the industrial scene. The aptly-titled ‘Pain’, for instance, which does just as it says and features endless sampled screaming, is quite frankly nerve-wracking at first listen and is as discomforting as is feasible within a strictly musical framework.

I am unsure why the good people at Nuit et Brouillard finally decided to re-release this fairly low-key album in its original form after so many years but, if anything, it will give those who missed out on it a decade ago the chance to catch up and have their fill of war-themed, bone-chilling nightmares. Incidentally, it also serves as a perfect accompaniment (though, truth be told, it came out first) to that other French project specialising in Great War-themed clinical spheres, Les Sentiers Conflictuels. And quite frankly, I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the country where most of the fighting took place should produce such highly qualitative testimony to the destructive frenzy of humankind. A sobering thought, indeed.