reviewed by Laura Stanley
There’s a moment right before a summer storm hits when the sky turns a sickly grey colour, the air is thick with humidity, and the wind kicks-up. This wind feels dirty. It’s like it holds everyone’s sweat and rich summertime lethargy but as soon as the rain is unleashed, all of that dirt and emotional stagnation washes away.
La peur des animaux, the debut EP from Quebec City artist Fria Moeras which also has some of the best album art of the year, is like a summertime storm. La peur des animaux is murky and full of emotions and by the end of the quick four songs, you’re struck by feelings of relief.
“Louise” is a psychedelic fever-dream about a woman who packs heat in case the guys who stare at her get too close. Moeras, like most of the EP, delivers her lyrics with a dollop of annoyance. The fact that the titular woman is afraid is infuriating.
On “La peur des animaux,” Moeras lingers in the shadows as she thinks about how fast and foolishly she’s falling for somebody. “Le vent souffle malade,” a sorrowful country-tinged track and the highlight of the EP, is full also full of longing as Moeras watches the aforementioned summer storm roll in, a storm that mirrors her own emotions. The repetition of the line “N’attends pas que je meure avant de m’offrir des fleurs” (Do not wait until I die before giving me flowers) is particularly impactful.
The EP’s final track, “Van Gogh (Les divagations auditives)” swirls, dizzily, from a heavily effected guitar and miscommunication. The later half of the track is all instrumental, closing the EP with an extended exhale and the rain pouring down.
Top Track: “Le vent souffle malade”
Rating: Strong Hoot (Good)
