Sometimes I’ll think back to a certain part of 2013, the last time Montreal-based Le Matos released a studio album, their debut Join Us. It was, for me personally, a rather fruitful time.
I’d been living in New York City for a few months, basically starting a new career in a new town. I’d recently met the woman who’d become my wife, and was making new friends and reinforcing relationships with existing ones. I was constantly going to live shows and discovering new music. Most of my finds were via either what was left of music blogs or a relatively benign social media landscape. Overall, the music of the time was just incredible.
Drive and its soundtrack had been out for maybe 18 months, and it was doing double duty: amplifying an underground movement that formed largely on MySpace and music blogs and exposing new audiences to said music. Le Matos, like the Valerie Collective that gave us College and Electric Youth and their “A Real Hero,” weren’t always or often going as overtly 1980s retro as those in the synthwave world would, but they did tap into a feeling of nostalgia both exciting and wistful (the sadder side of nostalgia).
If we zoom out, there’s much to make anyone, and not just me, wistful for that era of the late 2000s and early 2010s. Much of our newest tech and platforms were exciting and new, and seemed to just work. And in doing so, it didn’t seem to be working against us. You could go on Facebook or Twitter and actually see what you wanted to see. Posts — even with links! — from friends and family, your favorite bands, and your chosen blogs and news outlets actually showed up in your feed. Facebook groups were legitimate hangs. New smartphones seemed to have cool, or at least interesting, new features that ostensibly improved your experience.
Even more, it wasn’t just that these things were working properly or even working for you. They weren’t working against you. Certainly there was more darkness ‘neath the surface than we knew or wanted to admit, but social networking and media companies hadn’t yet optimized hate-fueled and/or exploitative algorithms. Twitter and Facebook, especially, seemed like platforms that could make us freer and more open. Perhaps even topple oppression. Logging on typically wasn’t the comprehensive visceral and literal act of trauma and existential dread it is today. With that in mind, the future seemed at least somewhat bright.
This is where the wistfulness comes in. I can feel excitement and smile at the personal and societal joys, but when remembered with feet firmly planted in 2026 there is that tinge of sadness.
Enter Le Matos’ long-awaited followup to Join Us, the excellent No Damn Good. Both Le Matos and I refer to their music as “wistfulwave” and it fits the mold I describe above. When Join Us dropped, it was easy to be wistful for the simplicity and wonder we experienced as youngsters growing up ignorant to the sins of the 1980s. We just liked synthesizing cultural hallmarks into compelling new art (pun intended). This time, that synthesis invites the wistfulness. Or more specifically, the new album’s glory makes us remember our own from the past.
[Before I proceed, I should note that Jean-Philippe Bernier and Jean-Nicolas Leupi haven’t had their musical project frozen in carbonite since 2013. (You’re reading this on Vehlinggo, so chances are you already know this.) They’ve released a few score/soundtrack albums — two for Turbo Kid properties and one each for Exode, Summer of 84, and Ninja Eliminator. Along with Mecha Maiko, they launched a record label, Right Click 2 Download. They’ve been contributing to the conversation for years.]
I’ll start with one thing that popped out to me that might seem contradictory to what I wrote above, but it isn’t: There is a distinct 1990s flavor to album no. 2.
Opener “Home” evokes feelings of the trance of that era and by the time you get to the closing cuts, “The Plague” and “49 52 56 53 42 4C,” you’re deep into the kind of breakbeats and fuzz that recall the extraordinary soundtrack to The Saint from 1997 (or maybe Astralwerks?). If I’m going to be wistful for an early 2010s informed by the ‘80s pop culture of my youth, I welcome with open arms the influence of my teenage era as the vehicle.
Another comforting element of the record is that mixed in with the great instrumental numbers are two staggeringly catchy vocal songs: “Out of Phase (Feat. Lylie)” and “Horizon (Feat. Beaver Sheppard).” Anchoring mostly instrumental releases with vocal singles has certainly been their approach for a while. Join Us had Bronwyn Griffin of Electric Youth. Two of their soundtracks had Pawws and two more had Danz CM (as Computer Magic), so I’m glad they’re recreating this tentpole strategy.
When “Horizon” was released as a single, I described the dark number as “sounding the least like Le Matos of any song or score cue they’ve released in their nearly 20 years.” It’s in many ways a dark or gothic synth-pop number deeply plunged into the ‘80s, even with its modern production. So the ‘90s haven’t totally won out yet. Sheppard’s vocals aren’t a deep baritone, but they’re certainly on their way to Dave Gahan territory. The instrumental cut “One Child” feels like a coldwave companion to “Horizon,” and just has me thinking that Le Matos do have the chops to put out an entire vocal record laced with dampest, cloudiest vibes Northern England could offer. Martin Hannett’s troubled ghost haunts these tracks, at least in part.
“Out of Phase” doesn’t have the upbeat charisma of, say, the duo’s Pawws collab “No Tomorrow” from Turbo Kid, but it is certainly buoyant. The verses easily ride along a minor-key path, but the chorus offers up a tension of positivity and perhaps even hope. Lylie’s vocals are fantastic, blending the enigmatic with the tender. I hope she collaborates with Le Matos again.
I don’t need to go track-by-track to convince you of my experience with this album. Even if I never had any involvement with the band with liner notes or obi strips or releasing a song on the 5 Years comp, I’d be supremely into this record.
I’d be enamored with the ‘90s DNA that blends in with that of the ‘80s. I would welcome their decision to step a few meters away from Ed Banger toward ‘90s Ninja Tune or Astralwerks, but nevertheless keeping me wistful for those moments and times, not so long ago, when things weren’t necessarily easier but they were certainly less fraught, less striking, less terrifying, less existential.
For this I’m thankful. For this I’m excited. For this, I’ll declare confidently that Le Matos’ second studio album is, actually, very damn good.
No Damn Good is currently available in digital form on streamers and Bandcamp, the latter where you can also find it in two distinct vinyl variants of 100 copies each.
