Breton
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Breton

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"BFI Southbank, London live review"

Breton became a band by default. Originally a squat-dwelling south London movie-making collective, they formed a musical offshoot as a consequence of finding it difficult to gain any significant exposure for the cinematic offerings they produced under the name BretonLABS.

They are now attempting to straddle both genres, and this one-off show under the aegis of the London short film festival sees their four musical members join forces with a string quartet to supply a soundtrack to a series of their own silent shorts, as well as reworking tracks from last year's debut album, Other People's Problems.

It's an involving yet fitful evening, with Breton's mash-up of samples and warped, glitch-heavy electronica simultaneously complementing and subverting the equally cut-up movies. Their hooded and intense frontman, Roman Rappak, is a compelling focus, with his strained vocal yelp on portentous tracks such as The Commission evoking the Cure's Robert Smith.

Their slight musical accompaniment to Detroit, a series of scenes of urban decay glimpsed through a tour-van window, is purely incidental and wouldn't work away from the film. This is also true of the snatched vocal samples and found noises of Idle Hands, a diverting portrait of a feckless gambling addict on the verge of a crack-up.

They are far more powerful when the musical vignettes function as standalone songs, as on the distorted staccato dubstep beats of Wood and Plastic, the Portishead-like swelling choruses and electro noir of Pacemaker and, particularly, the jolting rhythms and malevolent throb of standout track Edward the Confessor. If they foreground this strain of their multimedia activities, Breton may become what they never planned to be – a pop group that has hits. - The Guardian


"BFI Southbank, London live review"

Breton became a band by default. Originally a squat-dwelling south London movie-making collective, they formed a musical offshoot as a consequence of finding it difficult to gain any significant exposure for the cinematic offerings they produced under the name BretonLABS.

They are now attempting to straddle both genres, and this one-off show under the aegis of the London short film festival sees their four musical members join forces with a string quartet to supply a soundtrack to a series of their own silent shorts, as well as reworking tracks from last year's debut album, Other People's Problems.

It's an involving yet fitful evening, with Breton's mash-up of samples and warped, glitch-heavy electronica simultaneously complementing and subverting the equally cut-up movies. Their hooded and intense frontman, Roman Rappak, is a compelling focus, with his strained vocal yelp on portentous tracks such as The Commission evoking the Cure's Robert Smith.

Their slight musical accompaniment to Detroit, a series of scenes of urban decay glimpsed through a tour-van window, is purely incidental and wouldn't work away from the film. This is also true of the snatched vocal samples and found noises of Idle Hands, a diverting portrait of a feckless gambling addict on the verge of a crack-up.

They are far more powerful when the musical vignettes function as standalone songs, as on the distorted staccato dubstep beats of Wood and Plastic, the Portishead-like swelling choruses and electro noir of Pacemaker and, particularly, the jolting rhythms and malevolent throb of standout track Edward the Confessor. If they foreground this strain of their multimedia activities, Breton may become what they never planned to be – a pop group that has hits. - The Guardian


"This south London outfit has crafted a distinctive debut rich in mass-appeal potential."

South Londoners Breton take the DIY attitude very seriously. With music and videos controlled by the same group of likeminded individuals, and high-quality promo clips the result of fine synergy between audio and visual pursuits, they’ve done their own thing, their own way, since first surfacing with the Hemlock-released Counter Balance EP in 2010.
This debut album deserves to take them to a new height of recognition: it’s a superbly accessible set, and distinctive of design too. Not once do its makers present parallels to commercial concerns without retaining their edge; so Other People’s Problems possesses mass appeal on its own terms.
The choppy beats and confrontational video of lead single Edward the Confessor might imply that Other People’s Problems isn’t welcoming of company. But Breton haven’t erected an impenetrable wall around this collection; they’ve smashed down any defences to leave a fantastically open experience available to all.
Wood and Plastic is propulsive indie fare with spiky riffs and circling strings: think along the lines of Tom Vek remixed by first-album-era UNKLE. Governing Correctly wobbles wonkily like some accidentally left-in-the-studio Metronomy effort, albeit with punch where the Devonshire dance outfit prefer their pop; and Ghost Note is a sublime cacophony of fizzy electronics and terrace chants – the greatest Kasabian song Kasabian will never write.
But throughout, each of these comparisons slip beneath the mix just as swiftly as they emerge – Breton might construct motifs reminiscent of past rumbles from rock and electro circles, but they’re dressed in such a fashion as to stand out. The sometimes plaintive, at other times urgent vocals of Roman Rappak are the crux that fractured percussion and frenzied guitars revolve around; they are the human element that’s forever in focus, for fear that ghosts will rule these machines into an unholy mess of a racket.
At their most immediate, Breton totally remove themselves from the monochrome menace of Edward the Confessor – penultimate number Jostle is Friendly Fires with tropical sunsets shrouded by Kennington clouds, and pleasingly boisterous compared to this set’s more intimate turns. One of which closes proceedings: The Commission is a haunting curtain-down affair that lingers long after everything’s turned to silence. Do check out its superb sci-fi-themed video.
Breton possess the potential to become as recognisable to chart-following crowds as any of the aforementioned acts. Now comes the luck part – the right break, the right sync, the right soundtrack. All the ingredients are here for this lot to explode if the public gives them a spin or two. - BBC


"This south London outfit has crafted a distinctive debut rich in mass-appeal potential."

South Londoners Breton take the DIY attitude very seriously. With music and videos controlled by the same group of likeminded individuals, and high-quality promo clips the result of fine synergy between audio and visual pursuits, they’ve done their own thing, their own way, since first surfacing with the Hemlock-released Counter Balance EP in 2010.
This debut album deserves to take them to a new height of recognition: it’s a superbly accessible set, and distinctive of design too. Not once do its makers present parallels to commercial concerns without retaining their edge; so Other People’s Problems possesses mass appeal on its own terms.
The choppy beats and confrontational video of lead single Edward the Confessor might imply that Other People’s Problems isn’t welcoming of company. But Breton haven’t erected an impenetrable wall around this collection; they’ve smashed down any defences to leave a fantastically open experience available to all.
Wood and Plastic is propulsive indie fare with spiky riffs and circling strings: think along the lines of Tom Vek remixed by first-album-era UNKLE. Governing Correctly wobbles wonkily like some accidentally left-in-the-studio Metronomy effort, albeit with punch where the Devonshire dance outfit prefer their pop; and Ghost Note is a sublime cacophony of fizzy electronics and terrace chants – the greatest Kasabian song Kasabian will never write.
But throughout, each of these comparisons slip beneath the mix just as swiftly as they emerge – Breton might construct motifs reminiscent of past rumbles from rock and electro circles, but they’re dressed in such a fashion as to stand out. The sometimes plaintive, at other times urgent vocals of Roman Rappak are the crux that fractured percussion and frenzied guitars revolve around; they are the human element that’s forever in focus, for fear that ghosts will rule these machines into an unholy mess of a racket.
At their most immediate, Breton totally remove themselves from the monochrome menace of Edward the Confessor – penultimate number Jostle is Friendly Fires with tropical sunsets shrouded by Kennington clouds, and pleasingly boisterous compared to this set’s more intimate turns. One of which closes proceedings: The Commission is a haunting curtain-down affair that lingers long after everything’s turned to silence. Do check out its superb sci-fi-themed video.
Breton possess the potential to become as recognisable to chart-following crowds as any of the aforementioned acts. Now comes the luck part – the right break, the right sync, the right soundtrack. All the ingredients are here for this lot to explode if the public gives them a spin or two. - BBC


"The future looks exciting if these guys are involved"

8/10

Breton are a peculiarly modern proposition. They didn’t start out as a band but swerved into it when they began producing live soundtracks to their films. That this ‘art collective,’ incubated in south London’s makeshift spaces – all sketchy car parks and vibrant experimentation – should turn out a debut as casually brilliant as ‘Other People’s Problems’ is not surprising in itself. But that it should sound so vital, kind of is. That sound you hear, by the way, is a million dole-queue guitar bands slipping from the ledge of impotence into the abyss of irrelevance.

This outsider, multimedia-led perspective, rather than affording them a mannered distance, has resulted in a bold, promiscuous approach to art-rock, reminiscent of the auteurism of These New Puritans or the uncompromising intelligence of Foals. Opener ‘Pacemaker’ begins with a field recording of rolling stock, before segueing into a violin arrangement by German composer Hauschka – commissioned specially by Breton, apparently – which is then cut up, sampled and mixed up with a scuzzy, overdriven hip-hop beat. As openers go, it exemplifies the wealth of ideas that power the band like a batch of military-strength amphetamines.

“Why are they trying to salvage what we’ll be leaving by the side of the road?” bristles vocalist Roman Rappak on ‘Electrician’ while muted piano does battle with dissonant organ. He has a point. The speed with which Breton tackle ideas is dizzying; it would almost be untenable if it wasn’t for how much heart they cough into it. Imbuing claustrophobic math-rock with slithers of Afro guitar and soaring string arrangements, as they do on ‘Wood And Plastic’, is the kind of thing most bands leave until the second album.

The shattered ‘Ghost Note’ expertly articulates a vague sense of alienation through the kind of synth that house music pioneer Joey Beltram got off on as much as Rappak’s cracked incantation of “they decide, they decide, they, decide”. Hell, ‘Edward The Confessor’, with its eczema-dry 808 percussion, seasick vocals and blunt synths that hammer like a tension headache, sounds a bit like what everyone wanted the Tom Vek comeback to sound like. Only better.

However, it’s testament to the band’s confidence that they leave their finest moment until last. ‘The Commission’ harks back to the urban malaise and half-step snap of 2010’s ‘Counter Balance EP’. As a pulsating synth heaves in and out of focus over fibrous static, Rappak’s vocals are twisted and scattered across the sheer expanse, tracing a line between the ruminating timbres of Burial and that other soundtrack to skunk and disenfranchisement, trip-hop. Weirdly out of time with the rest of the record, it suggests that Breton have barely scratched the surface of what they want to, and what they can, achieve.

Louise Brailey - NME


"The future looks exciting if these guys are involved"

8/10

Breton are a peculiarly modern proposition. They didn’t start out as a band but swerved into it when they began producing live soundtracks to their films. That this ‘art collective,’ incubated in south London’s makeshift spaces – all sketchy car parks and vibrant experimentation – should turn out a debut as casually brilliant as ‘Other People’s Problems’ is not surprising in itself. But that it should sound so vital, kind of is. That sound you hear, by the way, is a million dole-queue guitar bands slipping from the ledge of impotence into the abyss of irrelevance.

This outsider, multimedia-led perspective, rather than affording them a mannered distance, has resulted in a bold, promiscuous approach to art-rock, reminiscent of the auteurism of These New Puritans or the uncompromising intelligence of Foals. Opener ‘Pacemaker’ begins with a field recording of rolling stock, before segueing into a violin arrangement by German composer Hauschka – commissioned specially by Breton, apparently – which is then cut up, sampled and mixed up with a scuzzy, overdriven hip-hop beat. As openers go, it exemplifies the wealth of ideas that power the band like a batch of military-strength amphetamines.

“Why are they trying to salvage what we’ll be leaving by the side of the road?” bristles vocalist Roman Rappak on ‘Electrician’ while muted piano does battle with dissonant organ. He has a point. The speed with which Breton tackle ideas is dizzying; it would almost be untenable if it wasn’t for how much heart they cough into it. Imbuing claustrophobic math-rock with slithers of Afro guitar and soaring string arrangements, as they do on ‘Wood And Plastic’, is the kind of thing most bands leave until the second album.

The shattered ‘Ghost Note’ expertly articulates a vague sense of alienation through the kind of synth that house music pioneer Joey Beltram got off on as much as Rappak’s cracked incantation of “they decide, they decide, they, decide”. Hell, ‘Edward The Confessor’, with its eczema-dry 808 percussion, seasick vocals and blunt synths that hammer like a tension headache, sounds a bit like what everyone wanted the Tom Vek comeback to sound like. Only better.

However, it’s testament to the band’s confidence that they leave their finest moment until last. ‘The Commission’ harks back to the urban malaise and half-step snap of 2010’s ‘Counter Balance EP’. As a pulsating synth heaves in and out of focus over fibrous static, Rappak’s vocals are twisted and scattered across the sheer expanse, tracing a line between the ruminating timbres of Burial and that other soundtrack to skunk and disenfranchisement, trip-hop. Weirdly out of time with the rest of the record, it suggests that Breton have barely scratched the surface of what they want to, and what they can, achieve.

Louise Brailey - NME


Discography

EPs & Albums

Counter Balance EP (Hemlock Recordings, 2010)
Practical EP (Strange Torpedo, 2010)
Sharing Notes EP (BretonLabs, 2011)
Blanket Rule EP (2012)
Other People's Problems (Fat Cat, 2012)
Escalation EP (BretonLabs, 2013)

Singles

Edward the Confessor (Fat Cat, 2011)
Interference (Fat Cat, 2012)
Jostle (Fat Cat, 2012)
Population Density (Fat Cat, 2012)
Remixed 12" (Fat Cat, 2013)

Photos

Bio

Described by NME as “enigmatic electronic masterminds” Breton is equal parts big-beats hip-hop and cinematic post-rock, deftly fused with a dance sensibility. Each track has as accompanying short film, produced by bretonLABS themselves, which is edited live by their on stage VJ, completing Breton's particular take on an audio-visual aesthetic.