Prior to her untimely death from cancer in 2004, Lizzy Mercier Descloux was involved in all sorts of forward-thinking artistic motion. The smartest place to undertake an investigation into her recorded output is right at the start, and Light in the Attic’s expanded reissue of 1979’s Press Color allows one to do so without scouring the used bins. Its bonus tracks are truly such, enlightening rather than extraneous, and it’s available now on 2LP/CD.
Lizzy Mercier Descloux is noted for her participation in ‘70s punk and to the No Wave convulsion in particular, but her creativity was frankly too voluminous to be pigeonholed into a solitary scene, a circumstance that endures as a major aspect of her cult appeal. Born in France, she and Michel Esteban were at the forefront of the country’s burgeoning punk uprising, managing the boutique Harry Cover and publishing the magazine Rock News.
Descloux befriended Patti Smith and Richard Hell on a visit to New York City in 1975, and they both contributed to her first book Desiderata, printed by Esteban alongside Smith’s Witt and The Night in 1977. Sweet musical heck was breaking loose as Esteban and Descloux packed bags for NYC that year, and getting introduced to Michael Zilkha through John Cale proved a beneficial turn of events.
Zilkha and Esteban left Cale’s SPY Records to form ZE, a label crucial to No Wave history and especially to Descloux’s early stuff; she debuted for ZE as half of Rosa Yemen, a duo with Michel’s brother Didier, both tackling guitar and Descloux providing the voice, their self-titled 12-inch of 1979 documenting a live performance from July of the previous year.
Included on this set by Light in the Attic, its addition proves highly worthwhile, the six selections emphasizing Descloux as ahead of her time from the outset. Two tracks, “Decryptated” and “Tso Xin Yu Yin” do utilize recognizable percussion, but otherwise “Rosa Yemen” showcases a tangle of strings and Descloux’s vocals, her words spoken, chanted and occasionally shouted mostly in her native tongue.
However, it’s not accurately portrayed as a minimalist state of affairs, offering a surprisingly full-bodied sound striving for tension and mysteriousness over the confrontational or abrasive, though “Rosa Vertov” touches upon all four of those traits in less than two minutes. Consisting of terse pieces wielding inspired amateurism like an Olympian handles a flaming torch, “Rosa Yemen” is essentially the nearest Descloux came to partaking in the No Wave’s antagonistic side as captured on the Brian Eno-produced No New York album.
Rosa Yemen’s live set derives from approximately the same timeframe as that LP, and yet Descloux was already offering tidbits of productivity to come, the brightly-hued and brittle pluck of the EP’s finale “Nina con un tercer ojo” impacting the ear similar to the beginning of a late-‘70s Rough Trade single. Specifically, it suggests the Slits and the Raincoats.
Even if Descloux had never released another record, “Rosa Yemen” would still be a notable item, and for listeners continuing to cherish No New York as the apex of the subgenre it’s easy to image the 12-inch as their pick from her catalog; well, except for Press Color’s ability to sway even the most bellicose of noise grumps.
By ‘79 ZE was fine-tuning an angle aptly (self) described as “Mutant Disco,” and Press Color’s opener, a cover of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown’s “Fire,” is an exemplary specimen of that objective. Abandoning the threatening pop-psych theatrics of the original and heading straight toward the dance floor, the whole is peppered with appealing elements; a hint of Moroder, Descloux’s ominous Euro-priestess intoning, uninhibited backing vocals, gutsy rhythmic passages, an unabashedly pro-styled sax solo, and just enough jet-engine guitar scrape to subtly underline the tune’s outsider status.
Overall a fine piece of sonic construction, but it’s “Torso Corso” that manages to magnify the links to Rosa Yemen and to No Wave in general. Sporting unflagging drum bedrock enhanced by guitar, organ and Descloux’s confident speak-sing approach, it quickly segues into the first of two enjoyable and quite prescient borrowings from prolific TV/film composer Lalo Schifrin.
From today’s vantage point culling from Mission Impossible might register as a mite obvious, but Press Color’s attention to soundtrack work predates the boost of interest in such material by a couple of decades, and while respect is palpable there’s also a satisfying disinclination for reverence; the treatment of the long familiar theme sidesteps the familiar big-band atmosphere for a scaled-down rhythm-disposed setting and “Jim on the Move” adjusts Schifrin’s jazzy exotica flavoring for a Slits-like environment, Descloux repeatedly enunciating the song’s title with attractive elasticity throughout.
Between the Lalo entries is the reggae-informed “No Golden Throat,” an engaging bit of self-deprecation thankfully lacking in genre pastiche. It precisely forecasts the direction of Descloux’s subsequent efforts and by extension highlights her standing as an undersung pioneer in the phenomenon of World Music. And contrasting sharply is “Wawa,” which like “Torso Corso” underscores the No Wave roots and does so via unruffled discipline in execution.
“Tumor” is a lyrical adjustment of the Little Willie John/Peggy Lee chestnut “Fever,” the gesture injecting a dash of twisted humor into the proceedings as “Aya Mood” closes Press Color’s sequence on a solid post-punk dub-informed instrumental note; absorbed in isolation, the cut helps to illuminate a key component in the LP’s success, namely Descloux’s attentiveness to pure sound thriving amongst the freshness of her groundbreaking ideas.
Press Color remains a classic of left-field punk-inspired individualism, and together with the ’78 EP the added bonuses increase the sum considerably; there’s a second run-through of “Mission Impossible” that’s distinct enough to be worth the trouble, ’79’s “Birdy Num-num” dabbles in the sensibility of Rosa Yemen with a focus on pre-recorded audio, and “Hard Boiled Babe” seems to have been treated to a fresh overdub/mix circa 2003, exuding vibes of experimental techno, trip-hop, and post-rock.
That could read as dangerous territory, but given Descloux’s exploratory nature and her influence on ensuing stylistic developments the maneuver actually works. Wisely programmed last in the order is “Morning High,” a ’95 duet with Patti Smith featuring music by Bill Laswell, guitar by Smith’s regular collaborator Oliver Ray, and the words of shared lit hero Arthur Rimbaud. Smith’s English is echoed in French, and as it unfolds the beauty of Descloux’s bohemian essence shines brilliantly.
Press Color offers only a portion of this versatile creator’s early credits; along with Desiderata she appeared in Amos Poe and Ivan Kral’s audio-visual survey of NYC punk The Blank Generation, but the bulk of her fledgling imagination is rounded-up here and with the appropriate care. While additional Lizzy Mercier Descloux albums are on deck awaiting reissue, those smitten over punk’s expansive possibilities should find this set simply indispensable.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
