Petite Noir Expertly Brings Together Disparate Cultural Influences on 'La Vie Est Belle'

To say that Petite Noir, the stage name of Cape Town musician Yannick Ilunga, had a diverse musical upbringing is an insult to understatements. Born in Belgium, Ilunga relocated to South Africa, fronting death metal band Fallen Within during his angsty teenage years, before finally settling down in the United Kingdom. Indeed, his debut album “La Vie Est Belle,” possesses both European and African musical elements, which, in the wrong hands, could have spelled disaster. Thankfully, Ilunga has managed to avoid a cluttered aural aesthetic, melding the eclectic set of sounds into one unexpectedly cohesive sonic entity. “Belle” fully lives up to its name—despite drawing from a number of clashing influences, Ilunga has produced a variegated, compulsively listenable record.

By COURTESY DOMINO

Ilunga began making waves after appearing on 2013’s “Saint Heron,” a compilation of alt-R&B tracks curated by Solange Knowles. His track, “Noirse,” proved a clear standout, and the subsequent critical and audience support provided the artist with a enough momentum to release his acclaimed EP “The King of Anxiety” earlier this year. Specializing in what he calls “noirwave,” best described as polyrhythmic African beats imbued with the overt romanticism of early ’80’s alternative, Ilunga culls sounds from diametrically opposite sources: hermetic South African villages to the cosmopolitan streets of London, ethereal melodies to industrial percussion. In including the musical sensibilities of a global audience, Ilunga renders “Belle” both accessible and riveting.

Filing “Belle” into one genre seems nearly impossible, as Illunga weaves strands of hip-hop, dance, alternative rock, jazz, and more into the album’s tapestry. On “Intro Noirwave,” the lyric-less opener, Ilunga layers heavy drums and chirping tropical birds over industrial daytime hum of a modern city. Meanwhile, in the thundering “Freedom,” the singer bellows how “freedom / comes when you least expects it,” over staccato tribal rhythms imbued with silky electronic textures, before finally breaking down in a traditional African chant. Indeed, “La Vie Est Belle” wallows in a captivating aural ambiguity that never feels overwhelming—instead, listening for the next vocal flourish or bizarre sample becomes part of the fun.

And yet, the occasional recognizable melodic build and trite lyricism can give the album a familiar, even hackneyed, feel. “Just Breathe,” the most radio-friendly of his offerings, possesses an anthemic, arena-rock quality, akin to Bloc Party’s seminal hit “So Here We Are.” The track seems destined for a cheesy teenage coming-of-age film or network-TV drama—the antithesis of what Ilunga stands for. Similarly, “MDR” pays seeming homage to “Grease”: “you’re the one that I want / you’re the one that I need,” Ilunga sings, a reference that feels oddly out of place with the palpable intensity of the song. Moments like these—where Ilunga attempts to appeal to listeners’ pop sensibilities—feel forced, detracting from an otherwise spotless album.

Yet while Ilunga stuffs “Belle” with a barrage of African drums, glittering synthesizers, jangling guitars, and feral animal calls, the album’s most captivating instrument is his own voice. Despite his African roots, the Congolese-Angolan singer sounds eerily similar to his British new wave predecessors—one listen to the thumping “Down” immediately evokes memories of The Cure’s Robert Smith or Duran Duran’s Simon Le Bon. Ilunga vacillates between heady coo and sonorous croon with startling ease, his voice at once whiny and soulful. And he never fails to surprise: On the title track, Ilunga suddenly begins rapping in French over a bevy of slow-burn guitars. Though many of the singer’s contemporaries openly dabble in experimental production, few have the vocal talent to match.

Noir has consistently mentioned that Kanye West’s “808s and Heartbreak” molded both his identity and signature sound, saying, in a January 2015 interview with Pitchfork Media, “Here’s a black guy just breaking all boundaries. I will always respect Kanye.” And while Noir lacks West’s mountain-sized ego, his unwavering audacity to push the rigid boundaries of pop music makes him similar to the rapper. Yes, the songs don’t “sound” particularly new, but their composition is undeniably ambitious, grand in both scope and emotional heft. “Belle” radiates with a hypnotic, understated sexiness, and for an artist who has spent his life roaming around the globe, sounds remarkably self-assured.