Of course Angine de Poitrine’s New York City debut was at a place called Le Poisson Rouge. (Or, LPR for short — does that mean we can start calling them ADP?)
Then again, in the current context of how they’ve arguably already outgrown venues this size, maybe it is a bit surprising. Following this latest leg of their North American tour, the math rock duo from Quebec have a third stretch booked for November. This time, they’re playing two nights at the 700-cap LPR; when they return, they’ll play three nights at Brooklyn Steel with its 1,800-person capacity.
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Swift viral rises can do that to artists, taking them from small stages to larger venues while audiences are still asking, “Wait, who are these guys?” Angine de Poitrine’s advantage over other viral success stories is that these two aren’t just landing on Earth for the first time. Although these polka-dotted personas — guitarist/bassist Khn and drummer Klek — are only a few years old, the musicians under those papier-mâché proboscises have clearly been more than proficient at their practice for much longer. We might not “know” who they are (do your own research, folks), but the anonymity can’t hide years of seasoned musicianship.
Which is part of what makes seeing them in person such a unique experience. You might picture them in costume in the studio when listening to Vol. I and Vol. II (which, obviously not), but seeing Khn loop through the microtonal frets of his double-necked instrument on cuts like “Tamebsz” and “Fabinek” is something else entirely. Same with Klek keeping his mathematical rhythms behind the kit, whether the chopping cuts of “Yor Zarad” or the charging spirals of “Sherpa.” That’s hard to do on record, let alone on stage with those weird looking costumes and their clear limitations.
Take when Khn’s guitar string broke halfway through the show, on “Ababa Hotel.” That instrument — half guitar, half bass, both with microtonal boards — isn’t something you just have two of lying around, and isn’t something you can just sling over that upturned pyramid on your head. You also can’t explain that to the crowd, because you’ve designed a character that only speaks in the squeaks and wobbles of an alien tongue. So, while a guitar tech came out to try to restring the thing live, Klek had no choice but to vamp a jam. And since a drum solo in the midst of all that funky interplay between instruments might break the spell, Khn had to join in and riff around that broken string.
Unsurprisingly, that string never got properly fixed. Instead, the band just moved on down one string (and thus, like, 40 fretted notes), taking us through “Sarniezz,” “Fabienk,” and “Sherpa” to end the eight-song set.
Throughout all that troubleshooting, the mystique never vanished. From start to finish, the crowd was fully bought in. Skewing largely older male and made up of a mix of jam fans, jazz heads, and the alt crowd, the tightly packed audience was held in the tractor beam of these magnetic, math-y creatures. When the musicians squealed “eeee” or “ahhhh,” revving imaginary motorcycles or tossing up their trademark triangle hand formation, everyone responded in kind. The newly added lights on Angine de Poitrine’s eyes and heads helped conduct the call and responses. There was laughter and woots and dancing, and noticeably few cellphones being held up. Not none, for sure, but for a band that’s built in no small part on aesthetic virality, the fact that your view to the stage wasn’t blocked by an ever rolling sea of blue screens said something.
The cynic in me might argue it says something about the half-life of Angine de Poitrine’s gimmick, or just the age of their audience. After all, what’s really happening here? There’s no doubt the duo is technically talented, though math rock fans might find their rather cyclical jazz-funk-rock grooves repetitious rather than structurally evolving. It’s like the guy who futzed around with a tricked out effects pedal and looping board got really good at futzing around with a tricked out effects pedal and looping board. They’re good, they’re engaging, but they’re not new.
What they are, however, is real. The mystery and characters manufacture intrigue, sure, and coupled with the comparative sonic weirdness, you have a valuable piece of social content. But there are things you can’t fake behind all that, in the skill and the creativity. In a way that is terribly ironic in the year of our AI Overlord 2026, there is an authenticity in Angine de Poitrine’s fabrication.
They are an honest to goodness art project that has broken through. Whether that’s despite or because of the algorithm doesn’t really matter, because what they’re doing is utterly of them. You can’t fake it, and holy crap is that important to celebrate these days.
