Enigmatically entitled 46 - 46th street, minute, year, or something else altogether - this experimental album encompasses a wide array of contemporary influences, from rock to noise. Mainly electro, even when pastiching the most classic of rock (making for a nice exercise in style in "Don't believe in rock 'n' roll"), Atlan's project combines the energy of rock, the irony of punk, and retains from noise music a taste for the outer limits of sound. Fiery and spontaneous, the album penetrates variety of sound landscapes without ever changing tone. Insistent, apocalyptic sequences (from "Irreligion" to the blast-off countdown of "16 bits") lead into strong, sharp tribal airs ("Same old song"), Japanese drums and chants - and then suddenly, the ghost of a central European violin appears to inflect the insistent vibrations of a Velvet-style intro ("Velvet", appropriately enough). On the album's more experimental tracks, waves of signals, sounds and archaic animal calls seem to seep out from below the earthly surface ("Sous terre"). And shifting back from land to sky, subsequent tracks instantly add further dimensions in shimmering layers. The journey comes to an end in nearly shamanesque fashion, to the rhythm of a body drifting from life - a sonorous as I lay dying in which heartbeats become the only anchoring point in a universe falling apart ("Faux-semblants"). As a bonus, there is a David Lynch-style video by Magali Marc for the track "Irreligion", in which an oppressive series of black and white shots evoke a hunting scene, a war set to break out. Lenses, binoculars and other visual devices conceal the protagonists and widen the gap with reality, while through a loudspeaker, an imperious voice intones a serious of incomprehensible warnings. Then come the deafening rhythm and unexpected sound of an instrument invented by Sonic Surgeon, a sort of horn with a powerful, modulated tone that relaunches the offensive, lifts the weight of the oppressive layers, and sets off toward a blazing, dissonant dawn.