Tapeworms – Grand Voyage | The Quietus

Tapeworms

Grand Voyage

Effervescent French trio find their sweet-toothed groove on synth-heavy second album

Don’t let their name fool you, French trio Tapeworms specialise in digital fizz, a sound dubbed ‘toygaze’. Drums don’t hit, they pop and ping. Vocals hover between restrained yearn and blissful nonchalance. A future nostalgia pop of interest to anyone who salivates at the sight of a Frutiger Aero desktop background.

Their latest album Grand Voyage originated in part from lockdown, in part from their year spent in Japan. You can relate the music to being pent up, terminally in, the projected fantasies you rely on when life shrinks down to the interior. On the flip side you get the real deal (getting out there and on with it). Adrift at home then adrift abroad. It seems a certain kind of escapism is applicable in both cases.

“Where are you now?” Asks an answer machine message, the affectless tone not unlike an airport tannoy. Tapeworms seek to capture these ‘in between’ moments, the uncertainty and the possibility.

The music sounds exactly like you’d expect of a group whose previous record was called Funtastic. ‘Window Seat’ is all swooning airborne rush, while ‘IRL’ offers “a new fiction”, a “plastic fantasy”. Their vision is of a benign future, a chance to play, a sound like ascending bubbles.

I’d argue Grand Voyage considerably ups the fun dosage, their prior work despondent by comparison. Indeed, the serotonin hits come so thick and fast you could fear running up quite the fun deficit. Music made by comedown deniers.

There’s been a sonic shift as well. Funtastic was closer to a strict shoegaze record, a more pleasing than most update of formulas set in place by My Bloody Valentine and co. Grand Voyage doubles down on the compressed electronics, as on the track ‘Playground’ which goes off on a wonderful 8bit rave excursion. The album is synth heavy and sweet toothed. Breezy Y2K core where even distortion is frictionless.

By the end of its runtime you do fear a good thing has worn thin. The record is uniformly lovely, but the tracks are often indistinguishable from one another. Tapeworms set up camp on cloud nine and seem happy not to wander too far.

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