Je connais mes qualités
Ces mots sont en voie d’extinction
Mais me voilà
Me voici
Montreal-based singer Meloire, a.k.a Fabrice Pilon, released his second album Bisou Triste on April 17. Upon listening to Bisou Triste for the first time, I thought about the way that music tends to speak to us. There is a deep honesty to this album, one that I tend to celebrate on this blog. Heartbreak, insecurity, and longing…universal feelings that Meloire does not hold back in expressing.
Over nine songs, Meloire sings about the complexities of love and struggles with self-esteem. If I had to sum up Bisou Triste, it would be, “slowly, then with a bang, and back slow again.” Meloire knows exactly what he’s doing when he makes music, and the exact moments to punctuate, moments we see readily throughout the album.
Sonically, I really admired the blending of several genres, from jazz to grunge and even a touch of bluegrass/country (but that’s just to my ears anyway!). One moment, I feel like snapping my fingers and the next moment, I’m crying. Across the genres Meloire mixes, there is something quite intriguing in the way he understands the way genres can meet each other anew. It’s fun and inventive.
We begin with Tes vêtements. Meloire comments on performing for others, without having authentic expression at the core. Pilon laments, in essence, that performance is simply theatre without self-awareness. We can hear this as he sings, “Y valent beaucoup d’money / Pis toi tes a payés / Juste pour avoir d’l’air” or “They’re worth a lot of money/ And you paid for them/Just to look the part.”
He asks them to stop pretending, to take those clothes off and consider something else: love. It could be seen as a bit harsh, but for me I take it as a call to action, or a look in the mirror. For the person on the receiving end, this will never be easy to hear but sometimes it is necessary.
For the song itself, Meloire opens up slowly and then with a bang. Upon first listen, there’s such a peppy step in the percussion and in the synth. This mixed with the concept behind the song, it feels purposeful to punctuate certain lyrical moments.
Blending jazz and pop elements on L’amour des autres, Meloire makes you want to dance while expressing how the world was built to leave you without the love of others. Pilon paints the picture: wanting to dance, but no one’s interested. And when you go home: paper plates and ready-made meals.
Searching for connections in a time where it feels like everyone is too busy being online can be a daunting task. Meloire recognizes this gap. It’s not the fault of us, rather the tech companies that built this system of instant gratification.
On the third track, Garde ton chandail, Meloire expresses that he is spoiling an image that was made of someone in his head. Throughout Garde ton chandail, we hear Meloire convey guilt over past actions. The song made me feel morose, especially Meloire alluding to no longer speaking to that person. We hear him sing, “J’enlève ce qui me tente / J’en paie la conscience” or “I take off what tempts me / I pay for it with my conscience.” Guilt comes with a cost, as in the case of this song, it can mean letting someone go.
The vocals on Garde ton chandail are like butter. The layering of the vocals with the arrangement makes for a smooth listening experience. At times, I felt a little bluegrass/country influence in addition to the bluesy pop elements. The violin adds such a beautiful dimension of yearning. This dimension is critical as it builds on the guilt and fear felt throughout the song.
Bon sang opens with bass-heavy grunge layered amongst synthesizers, adding the pop touch from earlier tracks. The song is about feeling anger from fighting and being in the tug and pull of an inadequate relationship. Meloire sings, “Tes mots doux m’atteignent quand tu montes la voix / Dormir en cuillère sur l’plancher d’la salle de bain” or “Your sweet words reach me when you raise your voice / Sleeping spooning on the bathroom floor.”
Everything about the composition really makes you feel that Pilon has something to say, and it comes viscerally from the heart. On Bon sang, the synth adds such a fun element. This is crucial to balance out how the lyrics weave an intimate personal story of relational woes, adding the complexity the song needs to stand out.
From hot springs of Bon sang, we arrive to the slower pace retreat of Semblant nous. I find Semblant nous most alluring in its opening and how the song’s composition follows thereafter. The synth adds inquisitive and reflective sort of vibe in the instrumental set up, almost as thought it is taking a moment to understand what has transpired.
Lyrically, the song continues the theme of exploration in interpersonal dynamics. Who can we be when we’re with someone the first time? Or when we pretend like it is the first time? The possibilities are endless, and there is plenty of ways to entice. It’s the performance of a lifetime, while you have access to the light.
Bien dans ma peau bring us back to violins, adding a bluegrass touch at the beginning. But this time, considering the contents of the lyrics, it’s quite melancholic. Pilon’s ability to be reflective really shines on Bien dans ma peau.
The future is inherently unpredictable, no matter how we may plan. I like this song as a commentary on hustle culture. While we are so damned to figure out what we need to do at 17 and work to the bone before we even understand ourselves, life’s instabilities (and capitalism) have other plans for us.
Mixed with a lack of self-confidence, it’s understandable to succumb to mounting expectations. Pilon is hard on himself, and with a need to be fully accomplished by your mid-20s, it can be daunting to ever feel up to do anything of substance.
Learning to love who you are is a slow process, and insecurity chips away at you. But this is normal. At the end of the song the choir emphasizes that universal feeling of insecurity…it reminds us that you are not alone. There is a grand sense of comfort in knowing that we can share that sort insecurity, together.
Heartache is really strong on On ne se parle plus. At this point in the album, it feels like every preceding song was building up to this moment. It’s the most stripped back, and it’s this feeling the acoustic creates that punctuates the heartbreak of ending a relationship. You miss the way their hand feels in yours, or the feeling of their embrace in a long hug. That person is your blindspot, and to check for them means to acknowledge the pain.
All the complicated feelings that Fabrice Pilon has been writing about throughout the album has come to reflect a long dreaded moment. The instrumentals builds to a grand goodbye at the end of the song because, as he sings, we do not talk anymore.
Bisou Triste ached my heart. When we find ourselves in a space of despair, being present feels insurmountable. The love we give may not be the most reflective of our true feelings. To admit this is a sign of strength, not weakness. This is what Bious Triste is about, and what Meloire solemnly confesses with throughout the song.
The cello and backing vocals were used brilliantly here again to build suspense and express grandiose feelings of coming to terms with one’s own shortcomings. As the titular track, it really does demonstrate everything this body of work encompasses: vulnerability, introspection, and self-awareness.
La vie arrive (bonus), the final track on the album, is stripped back. A stringy guitar welcomes us to Meloire’s little reminders that time heals all, that everything will work out for the better in the end. As time passes, we evolve and hopefully become better versions of ourselves.
Layered backing vocals build the sense of hope, similarly to the way Bien dans ma peau creates a sense of unity in our insecurities. On La vie arrive (bonus), it’s a not just an acknowledgement but a celebration of how beautiful it is that we share this life together, how our time waxes and wanes. It’s a poetic send off to the Bisou Triste experience, ending it on a heartening note.
Sonically, Bisou Triste provides a mix of pop, grunge mixed with synth, cello and even some bluegrass elements. He creates songs that build up to a bang, as I mentioned earlier in this post. All of this is in addition to Fabrice Pilon’s stellar vocal performance.
Fabrice Pilon shares an intimate portrait of his internal life on Bisou Triste. We see clearly what artistic expression brings through commitment to craft and a deep desire to share one’s vulnerabilities. These are not easy feats for anyone, much less bearing one’s internal world for public consumption.
Bisou Triste is unapologetic in its raw honesty. Between its sound and Pilon’s word-smithing, Bisou Triste is a therapeutic release for anyone who needs it.
Click to listen to Bisou Triste below. Follow Meloire on Instagram!
What’s your favourite track on Bisou Triste? Let me know in the comments below.
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