Charlotte Gainsbourg
IRM

Just when I had retrieved "5:55" from my music collection (and had begun to fall madly in love with it), here comes this mademoiselle française with "IRM", on which I promptly lay my hands, gripped by a fierce and impressive hunger for music. I had already listened to the lead single, the title track, which featured an alien and unsettling rhythm, off-kilter, a feverish voice completely in its element: in short, the exact opposite of those songs of refined perfection that made up the moonsafari-like "5:55": a great song, but disorienting for all those who had lost themselves in the depths of those sweet, sensual, caressing pianos.

And yet. My dear "5:55 addicts", Charlotte has stopped purring. The Gainsbourg heiress is no longer entranced by the lunar psychedelia of Air, crafting what can be defined as "a weird dream" (=from English, personally coined by me in common language meaning "a dream utterly senseless, illogical, yet so weird as to be fascinating"). Like every respectable artist, Charlotte has shuffled the deck and created a heterogeneous but incredibly cohesive work, exploring multiple keystones.

Whether it is the spectral folk rhythms  of an extraordinary "Master's Hand" placed at the start: tense, seductive, swift and nimble or the violins caressing a chilly lunar voice of a haunting "Vanities" suspended between heaven and earth, Charlotte (aided by a completely inspired and quirky Beck) fascinates and sings powerful, straightforward tracks; off-kilter, oblique melodies; short, often very short pieces (nearly always around two minutes), but destined to leave a mark given how effective they prove to be.

And what about a ballad like the beautiful "Le Chat Du Café Des Artistes"? The song in question is a cover of a classic of French pop, but it is revisited in such a hypnotic and sensual way that drives you mad: obsessive drumming, warm and fluorescent rhythms, strings that soar into the air and stretch to touch the heart and the relaxed and compelling throat of a Gainsbourg; or the hypnotic "Dandelion": a splendid slow rock piece that is gritty and refined, supported by an intriguing bass, barely perceptible drums, and strings that slyly sneak in.

But Charlotte's heterogeneous experimentation is evident also in the other pieces, all interesting, some sensational: from the lullaby "In The End", ethereal, very short and acoustic, to the Beatlesque "Heaven Can Wait", passing through the sensational, playful folk-country of "Me And Jane Doe", to the rough blues roll of a fierce "Trick Pony", to the punk electrowave of an inexplicable "Greenwich Mean Time", to the meticulous electronic blues of "Goodlooking Glass Blues" and to the adult pop of an "Time Of The Assassins" catchy as it is excellent. 

But the great masterpieces are two: respectively "Voyage" and "La Collectioneuse". The first is an extraordinary, illogical and disjointed piece that fuses in a single ensemble violins, folk-ballistic dances, frenzied electronics, and imposing strings; the second is the peak of the album: a magnificent trip-hop fascinating and fractured, built on piano loops and strings that whirl around the room, leaving you astounded. Two masterpieces in every sense, reflecting an art that breaks into the heart of one of the most versatile and fascinating women around. 

An excellent album, without a doubt one of the most bewildering I've listened to this month, and certainly among the three most beautiful and fascinating. A potpourri of sensations to analyze.

Charlotte has entered my heart.

My Citron Incesteuse.