Our trick, it is the noise, but a noise which wraps, which raises." And shelters the small repeated miracles of Street Horrrsing, the first album of the British of Fuck Buttons, beautiful surprise of this end of winter and - to see the vidéos released on Internet - potential estival scenic feeling. The duet, composed of Andrew Hung and Benjamin John Power, was formed in 2004 at Bristol, city marked by the punk tribal one of Pop Group in the Eighties, then by the waves trip-hop of Portishead and Massive Attack in the following decade. Influences quietly digested by Hung and Power. The two friends of childhood had lost sight of the fact themselves, before finding themselves with the Bristol-board School of Art. "Andy had carried out a short film and needed a music, tells Benjamin John Power. One launched out and one stopped more." Started from rough sound a "and nihilist" close to the abstracted white vibration, the duet quickly returned towards the light by taking to opposite course the codes to the drone metal at the base of their music. Finished looking at its feet while electric mountains of loops create sound tectonics rejecting any future. The compositions, played the keyboards and the adulterated machines, "unconsciously started to smile, become a little psychedelic", to concentrate on "the most positive aspects of the noise". The very space universe of Fuck Buttons thus likes to deeply hide its smiles under fury. With the image of synthé childish which opens, closes again and lives Street Horrrsing, fighting with the c?ur of the gusts of wind supplied with the tables of mixing. The six long pieces of the disc advance with a jouissif direction of frustration, hammering a slow beat (Bright Tomorrow) or brewing the magnetic air (Sweet Love for Planet Earth), before imploser in song hardcore chattered by Benjamin Power in tired a Fisher-Price microphone. "There are no written words, explains this last. My voice is only one instrument among others and I sing in a language which I invent with each catch, each concert. The direction of these words which do not exist is thus purely physical." If this delicate hubbub seems launched with the wind like the improvisations of two geeks do-it-yourselfers, the parts are revealed, once drained, like constructions maniacs. "All the music is written with the amplifiers with low. One concentrates on the unfolding of the pieces, which are divided into chapters. Then, the only share of freedom in interpretation is the duration that we give to each part, according to our mood or the reaction of the public." All the pleasure is there, with the listening of the first album of Fuck Buttons: in dubious waiting of the moment when the mooring ropes will release.