Dordogne’s MESCOULES from the album La Duche is an environment, where sound is fluid, where the ground beneath you shifts before your feet can settle. It does not unfold so much as it bends, twists, and reforms, luring the you into its unstable gravity. Each note feels like an incantation, each silence a deliberate pause before the next wave crashes.
MESCOULES emerges like a mist rolling in from an unknown shore, its form uncertain until it gathers weight, darkens, and takes shape. Guitars weave like fractured beams of light, illuminating something vast and unknowable. The bassline pulses like an engine buried deep within the earth, its distant hum both grounding and foreboding. Just as the track seems to rise—threatening to slip the bonds of gravity—it is dragged violently back down, flattening into a desolate wasteland where tension lingers in the air like static. And then the storm breaks.
The climax is an obliteration, a great celestial beast descending with the weight of inevitability, swallowing melody in its wake.
La Duche is not music to be consumed but to be immersed in, a tidal force that reshapes the listener as much as itself. Dordogne does not merely play with structure—they dissolve it, rebuild it, and leave behind something unrecognizable yet mesmerizing, proof of sound’s ability to create and destroy in equal measure.
Review by Thomas Imposter