For the past decade or so, the duo Potochkine has been blending poetry and synthetic harshness in a mix of darkwave, techno, EBM, darksynth (feel free to add your own ingredients to the cocktail), which is both theatrical and intimate. While Pauline Alcaïdé and Hugo Sempé had accustomed us to regular releases, four years separate Sang d'Encre from Sortilèges.
Fortunately, there are some things that cannot be forgotten, and very quickly the intensity of BI draws us into the cathartic dances of the duo, which we find ourselves back where we left off with Sortilèges: a sound that is both danceable and harsh, lyrics recited with feverish expressionism and a coldness that subtly blends irony, barely veiled threats and a sincere need to settle a few scores. Potochkine lose themselves in dizzying dances to break free from their sorrows and torments. We can shake our hips, but the underlying violence gives the music its dark, nocturnal, icy tone. Bipolarity, fear, dark thoughts: Potochkine is anxious, and there is an urgency and despair that give the machines a soul.
In a relatively compact number of tracks, we have the pleasure of rediscovering this visceral universe, whose songs could just as easily be numbers in a show. This feeling of poetic theatre comes across both in the emotions in Pauline Alcaïdé's singing, whose diction highlights lyrics that are both vivid and incisive, and in the memory of Mythes, the soundtrack to a play that took Potochkine to new horizons. We can sometimes sense the influence of this experience (Tristesse Fantasmée and its gloomy narration steeped in melancholy and a form of surrealist lyricism), without losing sight of the effectiveness of the rhythms (the tension of Partir and its sudden haunting interludes).
Potochkine exudes a charm that is hard to resist: in addition to the duo's discretion and their rather unique approach, where vocals and lyrics take on an unusual role in ‘techno/EBM/industrial’ music in the broadest sense, there are the themes they tackle. You can sense the duo's struggles and hardships... and then there's Bonnie, with her mysterious layers and haunting vocals, paying tribute to what we guess is a pet (we really hope we're not mistaken here). Is there a more universal subject? How can you resist, how can you not feel concerned? In the midst of this ensemble of anxieties, Bonnie is an anchor.
Like its artwork, which evokes us a post-mortem photograph attempting to capture the soul leaving the body of the deceased, Sang d'Encre is a haunting album that captures the current torments of its authors, unvarnished, direct, stripped of the mystical metaphors of the previous album. After about twenty minutes, we find ourselves hypnotised by fifteen minutes of atmospheric wanderings with La Source, which not only reminds us of Potochkine's talent for creating dreamlike and mysterious soundtracks, but also leaves us in an ambivalent situation: should we feel appeased? Can we hear ghosts in its more oppressive conclusion? We could have come just for the physical pleasure of the ultra-effective, catchy structures, but Potochkine definitely has a knack for capturing our souls.
