This latest opus from the eternally evolving Cécile Schott continues her recent fascination with synth-centric compositions, but the resemblance to any previous Colleen releases begins and ends there, as these five pieces feel like a bold leap into challenging and surprising new territory. The album’s title (“Free before the ending”) alludes to Schott’s 2024 decision to learn to swim again after three decades of water phobia, which is an exceptionally rich metaphor about navigating an “unstable environment…its discomfort, the doubts about your abilities and the reality of facing your own limitations.” In keeping with that theme, the sea is itself an excellent metaphor for this album, as Schott casts aside familiar melodies and patterns to plunge into a vision that is churning, alive, unpredictable, and uncharacteristically visceral.
It is not surprising that Schott’s uneasy relationship with water loomed large in her life in recent years, as she moved to Barcelona in 2019 and notes that “the sight of the Mediterranean Sea made me feel this limitation more and more acutely with each passing year.” Alert readers may note that the world as a whole started to go to shit in greatly accelerated fashion soon after that, so Schott’s dread of the seemingly infinite, unknown, and unpredictable expanse eternally lurking on her horizon mirrored an increasingly threatening and unpredictable era for humans in general. The trigger for Schott’s transformational life event came during a performance in the Azores (her 250th live show, coincidentally), as she was struck by the dolphin-filled natural beauty of her surroundings and realized that she needed to “stop making excuses” and get in the fucking water. Unsurprisingly, her triumphant return to the sea proved to be a revelatory experience that “catapulted” her into a more physical and active life and she considers the album “an ode to movement, to the body, to water, to urgency; to repairing old wounds, overcoming personal blocks and starting all over again.”
The album’s simplest and most nakedly beautiful piece is the opening “Mis armas se habían caído al suelo,” as a slow progression of warm organ-like chords provides a sacred-sounding backdrop for a spatially active melody that resembles blurred and gently hallucinatory sonar pings until a crashing wave rolls in and engulfs everything. Things get considerably wilder with the following “Puertas de mi cuerpo,” however, as its shapeshifting melody feels like it is being continually transformed by rolling waves of emotion that occasionally drag me under.
It is a prime example of the “pulse-driven, bubbling energy with constant momentum” vision that Schott was going for, but it also highlights another cool feature of this album: her attention to crucial details like timbre, spatial movement, and acoustics. In fact, Schott re-amped her finished Moog Matriarch compositions in one of her favorite venues (Casa Montjuic) and wielded “carefully chosen and placed microphones (including the famous Neumann KU100 binaural head)” to “capture both the venue’s PA sound itself and the venue’s acoustics.” Her attention to dynamics goes considerably deeper than just favorable acoustics, however, as melodies vibrantly flare and submerge in a way that mimics the way sound transforms when my ears emerge from or submerge in water.
The album’s final two pieces are even more unique and remarkable. In “Aguas abiertas,” the sounds of the sea give way to a tender, bleary, and wistful melody that gradually brightens, but the best bit is when a clicking percussion layer comes in that feels like the synth equivalent of a sick-ass drummer unleashing a virtuosic snare roll. That surprise did not prepare for the closing title track at all, however, as murky and melancholy chords languorously pulse and pan en route to a distorted, churning, spacy, and downright harrowing finale that has the intensity of a nightmarishly hallucinatory fireworks display. I especially loved how the experience gradually grew more unsettling and surreal with disorienting pitch shifts and increasing blown out textures. It evokes the feeling that my pleasant evening at a beachside cafe has been dramatically redirected by the discovery that someone slipped acid into my sangria and my surroundings are now vividly melting and smoldering around me.
I definitely did not see such a heavy ending coming at all, but there is not much at all that I accurately anticipated about Libres antes del final’s wild ride. Consequently, I have absolutely no idea where this album ranks in the Colleen discography, as the project’s usual soft and sublime nature has been hit with a towering wave of newfound elemental intensity. It certainly makes for a compelling headphone experience, as it can feel like a vibrant explosion of emotions and sensations. If I listen to it more casually, however, it’s more challenging aspects start to loom much larger, as there is little familiarity for me to grasp onto: the melodies can be strange and elusive, transitions are unpredictable, strong motifs quickly veer in unexpected new directions, and expected repetitions rarely stay that way for long. The obvious solution, of course, is to get fully immersed so I can properly feel a churning and mind-expanding maelstrom of fear, wonder, and the euphoria of liberation myself. That may be a tall order for new listeners, but I suspect that most longtime Colleen fans will find this new direction absolutely mesmerizing if they give it their full attention.
