For years, Frenchman Bernard Fèvre’s output basically hung in purgatory between obscurity and the enigmatic, but last decade he began coming into sharper focus; amidst a handful of appealing library music albums, his true claim to fame is “Black Devil Disco Club.” Originally released without fanfare, the EP’s long-belated reemergence brought doubts of authenticity alongside deserved kudos. Anthology Recordings’ fresh reissue, a worthwhile acquisition for fans of disco and electronica, is the first time the complete record has been available since 1978.
The small but devoted followings earned by many rediscovered musicians essentially stem from the existence of one record, and in the case of Bernard Fèvre the disc is “Black Devil Disco Club.” Though as a glance at its cover illuminates, its initial release, in France via RCA and in Italy on Out, was credited not to the composer but to Black Devil, Fèvre and his producer Jacky Giordano using the respective pseudonyms Junior Claristidge and Joachim Sherylee, with the EP named “Disco Club.”
If the titles have become somewhat interchangeable today, it’s no secret Fèvre is the creative mastermind (Giordano/Sherylee received his co-writing credit as a way of recouping an investment), and the same goes for the two library music LPs he cut for the Musax imprint, ‘75’s Suspense and ‘77’s Cosmos 2043. Reinforcing a former sense of anonymity, neither disc’s front cover sports Fèvre’s name.
The Strange World of Bernard Fèvre appeared on the L’Illustration Musicale label during this period, and at least in this instance getting cited in the title elevated his artistry to more than a back cover footnote. However, this shouldn’t infer a grave injustice in the downplaying of authorship, for this is library music after all; Fèvre has commented that composing for licensing purposes imposed no rules as he developed a suitable personal style.
Along with “Disco Club,” Anthology Recordings is reissuing Suspense and Cosmos 2043 on LP/CD, the succinct durations of both quite representative of their titles, the former offering passages appropriate for a low-budget action flick of its era while the latter suggests a more (retro-)futuristic scenario, though one where dancing is not discouraged.
Body moving is a much higher priority with “Disco Club.” Happily for armchair dwellers Fèvre is just as dedicated to the crafting of vibrant sonic landscapes; utilizing tapes, loops, keyboards, a Moog, a live drummer, and vocals (no computers), his stated intention was to combine strengths honed in the library scene with the rhythms of disco. It sounds a bit like Giorgio Moroder’s From Here to Eternity if it was conceived in a French garage.
Perhaps partially due to a lack of a corresponding personality attached to the freshness of its sounds, upon first release “Disco Club” made a minimal impression. After listening, it’s obvious it was only a matter of time before somebody was suitably impressed with Fèvre to initiate reintroducing his music into the marketplace.
In 1999 the Chemical Brothers sampled Fèvre on their track “Got Glint?,” though the source derived not from “Disco Club” but from Cosmos 2043, specifically the cut “Earth Message.” It served as a nice prologue to the string of records emerging in 2002; uncovered in a boot sale for 20p, “Disco Club” landed in the mitts of Richard D. James aka Aphex Twin and was soon reissued by Rephlex Records, the label of James and Grant Wilson-Claridge.
Splashed across a series of 12-inches with remixes by Luke Vibert (under the handle Kerrier District), the accusations of hoax were quashed and it was established Black Devil was the vision of one sole late-‘70s man. “Disco Club” proved successful enough that Fèvre returned to activity, and he’s completed six full-length albums as Black Devil Disco Club since, all on Lo Recordings.
As the rekindled moniker underscores, “Disco Club” should be the first stop in inspecting the guy’s oeuvre. ““H” Friend” dishes out a heavy, precise thump quickly blended with pulsating electronics, additional percussion and cyclical patterns. Eventually Fèvre’s robotic croon and echoing upper-register “do-do-dos” enhance the atmosphere.
Recorded professionally in the suburbs of Paris, the composer describes his equipment as very “home studio.” But for a track built on such an unadorned platform the results are surprisingly robust, the emphasis equally divided between rhythmic drive (from both human drumming and the verve of electronic repetition) and tonal color.
“Timing, Forget the Timing” starts similarly to ““H” Friend.” The rhythm is out front, rapidly evincing a bigger groove enveloped by facets that have indeed inspired comparisons to Moroder. In an unexpected twist, while surfing the web in prep for this review I found a ’13 post by Moroder on his Facebook page providing an audio link to ““H” Friend” and postulating Fèvre had sampled him.
It prompted a flurry of comments including one from Fèvre, who assured Moroder that no sampling had occurred. A positive exchange followed, but more intriguing is Moroder apparently not hearing of Fèvre until two years ago. While it’s pretty clear Fèvre had heard ‘77’s From Here to Eternity prior to the point of “Disco Club”’s conception, it still feels right to assess the similarity as being, in the words of Fèvre, an example of “parallel inspiration.”
The situation extends into the side-closing “One to Choose.” Together with that incessant beat a mechanical vocal stutter arises reminiscent of a vocoder on the edge of malfunctioning. And it’s increasingly evident that the beats, if warm, forceful and necessary, largely serve a utilitarian role; Fèvre’s interest, and ultimately his success, lay in their surroundings.
To elaborate, side two’s opener “We Never Fly Away Again” is dominated by singing and synthetic reverberations predicting aspects of electronica by roughly a decade. And “Follow Me (instrumental)” hits the right balance of thrust and vividness, though I can’t deny wishing Fèvre has resisted the urge for so much vocal scatting.
The voices in “No Regrets” are more effective, the closer again accurately deemed as ahead-of-its-time as it connects like fitting accompaniment to an all-nighter held in an abandoned warehouse circa the mid-‘90s. Placed among the four tracks on the first Rephlex 12-inch, the suspicion of hoax becomes understandable.
Campers at the crossroads of dance and electronica likely already know about the EP, but Anthology’s new edition allows consumers to get the original sequence in one place without scouring the earth for a copy. Furthermore, it’s also available in a cost-effective bundle with Suspense and Cosmos 2043. “Disco Club” isn’t a mind-blowing experience, but it is an important part of electro-dance history; those enjoying the genre’s charms will want to inspect Fèvre’s handiwork.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
