Nous Non Plus are an offshoot of the great Franco-Brooklyn-esque Les Sans
Culottes, and, if you speak French, I believe you can get the full story of
their battle for the heart and soul (and brand name) of this synth and
drum-machine-enhanced Euro-pop predecessor in "Tante Pis Pour Toi" ("Too
Bad for You"). The song mentions the former and current names of the band,
and it has a wah-wah laced, disco-rhythmed "fuck you" vibe that's instantly
recognizable, if not translatable. Even at its bitterest and most biting,
however, this is a band that manages to keep the dance beat going, and its
self-titled debut is as sexy, as fun, as party-ready as you could ask
for. That the band is not actually, literally French (with the exception
of Celine Dijon) adds an intriguing layer of irony to the whole
enterprise. As those characters in French 101 foreign language films are
always saying, "Formidable!"
Vocals here are divided between the peppily feminine Celine Dijon (that's
her very fit-looking abdomen on the CD cover) and the whispery seduction of
Jean-Luc Retard, and both have their moments. Celine tends to dominate the
upbeat, rock-oriented cuts like "Fille Atomique" and "Tante Pis Pour Toi"
while Jean-Luc wreathes the talk-sung "One Night in Paris" and "Le
Chateaux" in Gauloise smoke. It's worth mentioning that "One Night in
Paris" is not actually about finding a hotel on the Left Bank, but rather
Paris Hilton. Lyrics are sly ("Her smile...is like a dare...it says to
me...no underwear") and stylishly insinuating, riffing on Paris' fiancé
("She loves Paris... he is an heir... he has good hair") her dog and her TV
show. The disco beat is totally plastic, as ironic and stylized, in its
way, as the words. It probably wouldn't sound as perfect without the
French accent, but as it is, the song is sexy and funny and mildly outrageous.
Celine gets her tongue-in-cheek moment with "Monokini," surely the lost
film score to a movie starring Catherine Deneuve with a scarf over her
hair. It's got breezy Herb Alpert brass and ba-ba-ba harmonized vocals,
everything feather-light and couture designed. It ends with Celine
admitting that she's forgotten to bring her monokini (the bottom half of a
two-piece) to the beach, but it doesn't sound like it's going to keep her
from sunbathing.
The album includes some very pretty, very ye ye girl ballads. "Premier
Basier" is airy, lightly sung French pop, quite possibly as ironic as the
rest of the album, but not as obviously so. "La Ballade de Tourette" is
achingly pretty, melodic whispers of stylized regret and lost
love. "Apres-Soleil," with its luminous guitar chords and snare-brushed
backbeat, is all bright-toned instrumental melancholy. It's not as much fun
as "One Night in Paris" or "Fille Atomique" but there's no denying it's
well done.
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