Magnetic Circus

When Bernard Fevre, the soi-disant Black Devil, released 2008's Eight Oh Eight, it was allegedly the capstone to an increasingly redundant trilogy of electro-disco albums he'd begun 30 years earlier. Some might have assumed he'd slink back into his accustomed obscurity, his diabolical mission accomplished. But little about the Frenchman's career trajectory to date has been straightforward, so it's not all that surprising that now, following 2009's cobbled-together The Strange New World of Bernard Fevre, we're presented with a fourth Black Devil Disco Club album. This time, though, he's learned a few new tricks: instead of six five-minute dance tracks, Circus consists of ten three-minute pop songs, each featuring a different vocalist. For an artist who's never before enlisted collaborators, Fevre's amassed an impressive roster of guests here, among them Nancy Sinatra, Afrika Bambaataa, Jon Spencer, the Horrors' Faris Badwan, and Claire Evans of YACHT. There's a lot of personality on that list — something that's been fairly lacking in most of Fevre's output — but it's also noteworthy how well-matched each of these contributors is to the playfully sinister Black Devil aesthetic. And while none of the big-name guests (or the lesser-knowns for that matter) make an especially outsized impression, they all fit remarkably well into Fevre's familiarly dark, squelchy, mechanical, Moroder-esque grooves. Spencer kicks things off with some ominously intoned mumbo-jumbo on the pleasantly jumpy "Fuzzy Dream"; Poni Hoax's Nicolas Kerr sneers with unhinged, glammy decadence on the creepy "My Screen," and English up-and-comer CocknBullKid brings an intriguing hint of chart-soul polish to her turn on "In Doubt." Sinatra is somewhat overpowered by the aptly titled, overly cluttered "Too Ardent," but her airy, witchy croon is a treat nonetheless. And Bambaataa, an old pro at this stuff, works up a credible bit of spooked sermonizing on "Magnetic Devil," although he's rather rudely forced to share space with an uncredited "ft. MacTalk." Surprisingly, YACHT's Evans — who knows a thing or two about cockamamie occultism, and who sings perhaps Circus' only legitimately blasphemous lyric — might actually be the album's biggest vocal presence, if only because she's mixed the highest. Throughout, there's a well-maintained balance between the vocalists — who bring just enough individuality and presence to keep things engaging, never to fully dominate — and Fevre's energetically synthetic productions. Which may, admittedly, be somewhat rote, and monomaniacally thumping, and extravagantly bongo-laden (are bongos meant to be spooky?), and generally much more goofy than actually menacing, but nevertheless offer more variety and interest than they often have in the past. Maybe he should have been a ringmaster all along. ~ K. Ross Hoffman, Rovi