Wikipedia’s ‘random article’ link is rarely the source of truly brilliant discoveries. Yes, you can amaze your friends with knowledge of the Fairchild T-46 jet fighter, or the political structures of Poland, even the Bollywood cinema releases of 1991 (crucial knowledge for any social situation – “So, you’re Gary’s friend?” “Yeah. Hey, did you know that Sadashiv Amrapurkar won the first Filmfare Award for Best Villain for his role in Sadak?” “Make love to me, mysterious stranger.”) but sometimes even this most beautifully trivial information can wear thin. Sometimes. Which is why, in one potentially misguided click, I was surprised to discover French chanteuse Françoiz Breut; a singer and illustrator who had me curious in a single paragraph’s description (which, in hindsight, was probably filled with inaccuracies), and hooked after a single listen. After my first time hearing what has become Breut’s most successful album to date, the sophmore release Vingt à Trente Mille Jours, she had forged herself firmly as one of my bestest most favouritist musical acts (and those are dizzy heights, I assure you, I mean she’s not quite as revered as ABBA but she’s just as European).
Aspiring strict school-mistress that I am, some homework will have to accompany this article. So I urge you give a listen to, if nothing else, the song ‘Si tu disais’ from the aforementioned Vingt à Trente Mille Jours. This track is undeniably gorgeous; all sweeping retro-strings and moody vocals. It is, quite simply, a dead dead enjoyable tune (in fact , it’s better than some of the less-good ABBA numbers – like ‘Tiger’, for example, but that one was always over my head). I’d name it as the stand-out of the album, which is itself a great collection of beautiful songs (other, less objectively chosen favourites including ‘Derrière le grand filtre’ and ‘Sans souci’).
What is apparent from Vingt à Trente Mille Jours, however, is the very definite separateness of vocal and instrumental aspects. The singer is the singer, the music is the music, and never the twain shall meet. Or something like that. It’s exciting to see, then, in the new release À L’Aveuglette, a more unified sound coming from the band as a whole. Breut’s sensual vocal moving between the lyrical and instrumental, reinforcing the melodies of the music. This is probably most apparent in ‘L’Étincelle ou la Contrainte du Feu’, a song which I cannot deny has me tingling all over every time I hear it. Of course little hints of the old style still creep in, like in the triumphant (and yes, this is the first time “triumphant” has been used to describe a song that wasn’t a hymn) ‘Les jeunes pousses’. All things considered, I’d have to name À L’Aveuglette as much more satisfying and coherent collection of songs (and a grand CD to fire on when inviting over a prospective mate – especially if you have some incense handy).
As for her live act, imagine all the sexiest things in life. Accidentally pushing “69” on your television remote, purposely pushing “69” on your television remote, Tesco’s Finest range, eating a Creme Egg without using your teeth, Alistair Darling’s eyebrows, Matt Berry’s voice, the word “melons”, having five naked midgets lick raspberry jam from the electrically-wired underside of your… Well, you get my point. With the exception of Alistair Darling, none of these things even come close to comparing. Go give her a listen.
Track // “Si Tu Disais” (mp3)
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Louise Connell is a folk musician and writer from Glasgow. 
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