I took a couple of years of French in high school, and followed it with additional coursework in college. By rights, I should still be capable of speaking passable French today...but I'm not. At some point during my sophomore year of college, some sort of mental switch flipped. Not only could I no longer seem to learn new words, conjugate new verbs or keep my tenses straight, but my conversational French -- comparable, on a good day, to the verbal skills of a foul-mouthed, mildly retarded Gallic six year-old -- began leaking out of my head, never to be recovered. Today, if I really concentrate, I can understand occasional French words and read extremely simple sentences. Aging sucks.
Fortunately, being a complete no-hoper vis-a-vis French didn't impede my enjoyment of Françoiz Breut's music. Yes, the lyrics are mostly in French, but I've heard supposedly English lyrics that were a lot harder to understand.
Vingt A Trent Mille Jours isn't one of those super-sugar-sweet confections favored by Bertrand Burgalat and the Tricatel crowd. Breut's music -- penned for her by numerous friends, including past collaborator Dominique Ané -- is far more subtle and introspective, mixing torch songs, downtempo bluesiness and skeletal trip-hop. Straightforward guitar structures are backed in turns by piano, strings, flute and keyboards. Avant garde pianist Yann Tiersen adds some vibraphone action and provides arrangements for the Budapest Symphony Orchestra, which helps to flesh out the album's last few tracks. While tunes like "Portsmouth" and "The Origin of the World" take a fairly straightforward, even traditional approach, the majority of the music is...unusual. In the case of the jittery Spanish-style twang of the opener, "Behind the Big Filter", and the lounge-tinged (in a good way!) theatricality of the Peggy Lee cover, "Sans Souci", it's an overt effort to slip the shackles of pop's limitations, while "Tiny Silhouette" and "L'heure bleue" employ mild electronic tinkering to maintain an edgy, sometimes Portishead-y mood.
Ms. Breut is clearly no stranger to mood manipulation; her vocals run the gamut from the coquettish breathiness of "L'heure bleue" to the wistful girlishness of "If You Say" and the forlorn huskiness of "One Day Affair". Even if you don't understand the words she's singing, you'll be able to read their emotional aura.
Vingt A Trente Mille Jours definitely requires more than one listen to really "click", and its understated instrumental nuances cry out for attentive listening at room-filling volume. Your first time through -- especially if you're listening on a car stereo -- it may seem a little flat. Persevere! If you're the sort of listener who delights in discovering new nuggets of creative inspiration in songs you've heard a hundred times, Vingt A Trente Mille Jours is for you. You may want to bone up on your conversational French a little bit before listening...but I assure you, that's optional.
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