COLDER - Heat

The inflation of nu-new wavers has reached such proportions lately that it's starting to nauseate even the die-hard nostalgics of post-punk's "hot years". More than a revival, at this point, we can openly speak of mass cloning. And as with any assembly-line operation, quality often goes out the window, overwhelmed by the urgency to keep churning out new, plasticky models to feed to the public. All it takes is a catchy name to stick in front of the inevitable "the", a dash of hype, and the job is done. The risk, though, is that amid such chaos we end up losing sight of those small gems that, while historically part of the movement, manage to keep a safe distance from mere epigonism. Such is the case with the second album by Marc Nguyen Tan, aka Colder, a Parisian graphic designer and producer who, behind the shadow of Joy Division, reveals a versatility and mastery of electronics utterly unknown to the current horde of latecomer wavers.

Two years on from the shimmering "Again", which nonetheless remained confined to the usual circle of aficionados, the new "Heat" definitively brings the Colder sound into focus, plunging it into even murkier, more sensual atmospheres. Ten electronic mini-pieces for sleepless nights, which worm their way under your skin, leaving behind a subtle sense of unease. Versatility, as we said. Ian Curtis's catacomb-like cadences, in fact, are merely the starting point of a journey back through wave aesthetics, one that crosses paths with the neurotic pantomimes of Suicide, the ante litteram techno of Kraftwerk, the chiaroscuro synth-pop of New Order's "Movement", and the dark urban pulses of Massive Attack. Not mere name-dropping, but a happy synthesis of an entire era, updated to suit the standards of modern dancefloors.

Marc does almost everything himself (vocals, bass, laptop and guitar), backed by a meticulous production job, the trademark of Trevor Jackson's Output label, which is trying to establish itself as the English answer to DFA. The ten tracks glide along the rails of a dark-tinged electro-wave, in a constant back-and-forth between warm and freezing-cold tones, as the contrast between the album's title and the band's name would seem to suggest. The single "Wrong Baby" is practically a tribute to Joy Division: the robotic march of "She's Lost Control" and the icy keyboard of "Decades" are, however, whipped into a mush of beats with a distinctly Bristol flavor, always with one eye trained on Düsseldorf (Kraftwerk).

The martial snare rolls of "Losing Myself", on the other hand, explore more rock-oriented territory, though shadowed sinisterly by obsessive keyboards and Marc's understated vocals, a kind of Alan Vega, less highly-strung and more seductive. And it's again the unwholesome spirit of Suicide that soaks the synths of the elegant "The Winter's Field" and the spectral spoken-word of "Downtown".

In other tracks, sequences and samples plunge into dizzying rhythms dictated above all by the bass, ever hypnotic in its unwavering forward march: "To The Music" is contagious punk-funk, wrapped in lush blankets of synth and delivered with a fatalistic swagger à la Oakey; "Tonight", almost entirely instrumental, rears up on dub cadences; but this act of reinvention doesn't spare even the motorik pulses of kraut-rock (Neu!), as in the dizzying whirl of "On My Mind", through which only the distant reverb of Marc's voice filters.

Bringing things ideally full circle to the present, the spatial melancholy of "Your Face", with its Hammond organ phrases and the keyboards' melodic embroidery painting a retro-futurist little picture à la Air, before the sound slips into the "definitive" catalepsy of "Fade Away". While many would have us believe that the wave era can only live on as a memory, Colder are here to show us how certain sounds can still regenerate themselves. Provided, that is, that the assembly line grinds to a halt and creativity is set back in motion. And - wouldn't you know it - this time there isn't even a single "the" in sight…

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30/04/2026