In an age of extreme music saturation, where any attempt to go beyond algorithmic recommendation leaves one adrift in a seemingly endless trove of records and singles, it matters more than ever when one discovers an artist. Much like the glut of streaming television regularly puts one in the position of “discovering” a show that somehow has three seasons to its name already, the digital repository of music on the leading streaming services will make evident to anyone just how much they’re missing if they stick to listening to certain things on repeat.
This reality of a streaming music world struck me upon listening to Les Chants de L’Aurore, the seventh studio disc by the French group Alcest, a duo comprised of singer and multi-instrumentalist Stéphane Paut, primarily known by his nom de plume Neige and percussionist Winterhalter (given name Jean Deflandre). I’ve known Alcest’s music since not long after their breakthrough debut Souvenirs d’un Autre Monde, perhaps the linchpin record in a style that has since been dubbed “blackgaze” for its fusion of black metal’s heaviness (screams, high-tempo drumming, tremolo picking on guitar) and shoegaze’s ethereal textures (vocals where words blur together, long introspective instrumental sections).
Souvenirs would go on to inspire numerous other artists in the metal world, most notably the American act Deafheaven, whose 2013 LP Sunbather apotheoses this sound. To my ears, Les Chants de l’Aurore represents a further refinement of the compositional style exemplified by Alcest’s debut 17 years ago: passages of high-register guitar distortion and screamed voices give way to meditative passages dominated by clean electric guitars and atmospheric electronics.
Yet as I sat in the autumnal world evoked by Les Chants de l’Aurore – “autumnal”, to my ears, in part due to the beautiful ochre-colored grasses on the sleeve art – I tried imagining it as if it were my first experience of Alcest. That proved a difficult task. Apart from my appreciation of Alcest’s music, the group’s signature sound has, especially following Deafheaven’s rise to popularity that followed the acclaim of Sunbather, become an example of an all-too-familiar musical phenomenon: a groundbreaking approach that attracts a slew of inferior imitators. “Blackgaze”, like so many subgenres that garner a devoted fanbase (see also: “djent”), became something of a brand, an easy label for any artist that indulged in black metal’s aesthetics but also liked shimmering guitar interludes soaked with reverb.
When it comes to this particular corner of metal, we’re living in the world Souvenirs created. So though, on my first listen-through of Les Chants de l’Aurore, I found myself enthralled by the abrupt transition from the gentle electric guitar that opens “L’Enfant de la Lune”, wondering when the pulsing electronic drums will give way to the rush of distortion, I also realized that my anticipation stemmed from a place of recognition. The playbook’s been public for a while. Only 2014’s Shelter, in which Neige forgoes black metal vocals altogether, deviates significantly from the Alcest aesthetic – and, even in that instance, one core facet of the light/dark dichotomy innate to blackgaze remains.
Imagining Les Chants de l’Aurore as a first-time Alcest listener, however, I can easily imagine it becoming as dear to someone just discovering the band in 2024 as Souvenirs was to those closely following the trends in underground metal in the late 2000s. Where the latter record thrums with the energy of a young band unlocking its style, the former exhibits a compositional sophistication indicative of a group with many seasons of touring and writing the studio under their belt.
Les Chants de l’Aurore‘ stunning centerpiece, “Améthyste”, distills the entire Alcest output into eight and a half riveting minutes: kicking off with driving guitars that underpin a back-and-forth dynamic between the clean and harsh sides of Neige’s vocals, the song then interlaces in between the main guitar parts acoustic interludes straight out of Primordial and electric organs that emanate a kind of hymnal quality. In the song’s final minute, Winterhalter brings things to a thunderous close, delivering one of his best drumming performances on any Alcest album.
Les Chants de l’Aurore claims more than just one highlight. Even at their most concise, Alcest aren’t a band one can expect to release a traditional “single”, but “Flamme Jumelle” comes quite close, with soaring lead guitars and power chords that will undoubtedly be the catalyst for some mosh pits soon to be thrashed on the next Alcest tour. However, what stands out most on Les Chants de l’Aurore are the moments where Alcest explore the gentler side of their songwriting. The brief piano-led interlude “Réminiscence” models what artists can do when writing interstitial pieces in between longer compositions if they see them as more than mere breathers. As Neige sings wordlessly over piano and cello, conjuring a sonic landscape suggestive of a slowly descending sun washing the horizon in faint orange light, he brings to mind the dreamier side of Anathema’s post-2010 music.
Then there’s the final tune, aptly named “L’Adieu”, which builds on Alcest’s legacy of knowing how to craft a stunning closing number. (Case in point: “Summer’s Glory” on 2012’s Les Voyages de l’âme, whose rapturous last minutes are a clear antecedent to Deafheaven’s iconic “Dream House” a year later.) Echoey guitars in the vein of Explosions in the Sky, accompanied by a gently fingerpicked acoustic guitar, guide Les Chants de l’Aurore to a warm conclusion, one that channels the dynamic highs and lows of the preceding six songs into a release that’s all the more powerful for being understated.
Reflecting on my two experiences with Les Chants de l’Aurore – first as a seasoned appreciator, then as a play-acting neophyte to Alcest – I came away feeling satisfied through either lens. As someone who considers Souvenirs and Les Voyages the pinnacle of Alcest’s work, I found even some of the record’s finest sequences to be cases of treading familiar ground. But there is a distinction between the refinement of a known aesthetic and artistic retread, even if no firm line can be drawn to delineate at which point the former becomes the latter beyond a Potter Stewart-esque “you know it when you see it” standard. It was not ultimately all that difficult for me to imagine why someone today discovering the blackgaze melding of light and dark – so revelatory just two decades ago – might become enraptured by Les Chants de l’Aurore.
For a band like Alcest, Les Chants de l’Aurore is an important artistic marker: well into their musical journey, Neige and Winterhalter are thriving in their musical wheelhouse. After all this time and the many copycats since Souvenirs, Alcest’s innovation still has places to go.