Marion Cotillard (with Franz Ferdinand) - "Eyes of Mars" (2010)

I had been drifting off to sleep while listening to a podcast when I heard “Eyes of Mars” for the first time earlier this week. Needless to say, the jolt that shook me as soon as this song kicked in blasted the sleep right out of my head. I had no idea who was singing or playing the instruments; my best guess was that some young, impressively polished French indie band was tearing into an obscure Kate Bush song that I’d never heard before.

The reality is far juicier. Last year, Oscar-winning actress and all-around 21st-century heroine Marion Cotillard, having proven her exquisite vocal chops in decidedly non-rock settings (conveying Edith Piaf’s melancholy and infinite sadness in “La Vie En Rose,” partying with Hollywood A-listers while singing tightly choreographed Broadway-style numbers in “Nine”), was approached by fashion giant Dior to serve as the face for their “Lady Dior” advertising campaign. Wanting more than a mere photo shoot for billboards and magazine spreads, Dior wrapped an entire persona around Cotillard—the enigmatic “Lady Rouge,” a character created for Dior by designer John Galliano—and commissioned a mini-movie for the campaign.

Enter the slick indie rock fashion plates Franz Ferdinand. Tapped to provide a song for Lady Rouge to sing in the film, they contributed “Eyes of Mars,” for which Cotillard nailed the lead vocals with exactly the kind of detached cool that has been the purview of Alex Kapranos and Company since they declared themselves the “new Scottish gentry” back in 2003. In short: yeah, Cotillard can sing the hell out of rock too.

Kapranos must have had a hunch about Cotillard’s not-just-for-showtunes skills, because “Eyes of Mars” is a weird, complex song that shimmers through multiple key changes—in odd places—and pivots with intense dynamic shifts that a lesser singer would likely have botched. Cotillard’s breathy, full-voweled soprano (which does recall Kate Bush in places, particularly during the song’s spookily hushed intro) inhabits the song’s pull towards the chaotic with a strong sense of inner stability—Lady Rouge may be getting sucked into a maelstrom, but she’s still got enough wits about her to comment on its beauty as she spins. Even more, Cotillard is enough of a self-aware 21st-century heroine to be able to get away with infusing the line “we’re selling our dreams to you all” with a perfectly furtive smirk.

That said, the song isn’t for sale, but the streamable video is big-budget amazing (although I’m surprised that Dior used faceless, floppy-haired actors for Lady Rouge’s backing band rather than employ Franz Ferdinand themselves). Watch it over and over again (as I’ve been) here:

Marc Lavoine - "Pour Une Biguine Avec Toi" (1983)

In his early 20’s, Marc Lavoine embarked on a career as an actor, mostly landing roles in serial television. In the early- to mid-80’s he scored a few back-to-back hits on the pop music charts (sometimes writing his own material) and quickly attained much more success as a musician than he’d tasted as an actor. His telegenic looks didn’t hurt this transition, which, of course, coincided with the mushrooming global popularity of music videos.

The eerie Rick Springfield comparisons end right there, however. Marc Lavoine most certainly does not reside in a dusty “Where Is He Now?” file of unremembered 80’s video-hit wonders. In fact, as I write this entry, 2009’s “Volume Ten,” Lavoine’s tenth studio album (not counting live albums and compilations) remains ensconced in the French Top Ten Album Charts (nudged out of the highest spots only by the likes of worldwide phenoms Lady Gaga, Michael Bublé, and the Black Eyed Peas). The only time Rick Springfield has ever shared anything with Lady Gaga or the Black Eyed Peas has been in this sentence.

Ok, so having established that Lavoine remains a relevant, pop music elder statesman in France, one who continues to sell lots of records, let me again bounce back to those early days. I had wanted to write about something from “Volume Ten,” but I kept getting sucked into Lavoine’s earliest hits, particularly 1983’s “Pour Une Biguine Avec Toi,” in which Lavoine delivers an absolute classic—on only his second single.

From a 2010 vantage point, “Biguine” is pure 80’s sonic nostalgia: Lavoine’s earnest, growly vocals channel the dude from Simple Minds, the reverb-drenched guitar presages “Boys of Summer,” each chorus explodes with Psychedelic Furs-style keyboard-as-xylophone. Meanwhile, the heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics tally a list of all the things the singer would readily give up for a shot at the girl he’s got his eye on (possibly worrisome for said girl: his toothbrush made the list). Close your eyes, though, and you can see Molly Ringwald doing her library detention dance during Lavoine’s “Doo do-doot doo doo” vocal break after the chorus. Marc Lavoine: Where Is He Now? At the top of the charts, right where he’s always been…

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Clara Clara - "Baise main" (2008)

My favorite music-related French word is batteur, drummer. Batteur—like its obvious English cognates batter and battering—more appropriately conveys, in my opinion, the visceral physicality of playing the drums. The drummers I like the most, from Keith Moon to Dave Grohl to Mike Joyce to Mo Tucker, all battered their kit, flailing away with primal spastic exuberance that typically puts the other (perhaps more orderly) timekeepers of their respective eras to shame.

François Virot, mastermind behind the 3-piece Dijon-based band Clara Clara, is a batteur of the highest order. He batters, bashes, and beats all over his kit like he’s got four arms holding two drumsticks each. The sweat he works up drenches the band’s full-length debut, “AA,” in a wild sizzle. Bandmates—no slouches—are brother Charles Virot, whose loosely-strung bass guitar sounds like a 6-string guitar being lovingly strangled by a doomed suitor in a star-crossed tragedy, and Amélie Lambert, whose analog synths conjure the soundtrack to a ravenous 8-bit go-go videogame that no one but her can win. Collectively, they concoct a joyful, noisy racket that eschews lyrics and vocals save for some three-way, blissed-out chants and shouts.

Kicking off with a splendidly distorted organ line, album highlight “Baise main” lurches with jittery intensity for several seconds before the bass and drums tumble in. The jumpy song shifts textures, rhythms, and melodies several times; the stops and starts recall the Pixies at their most neurotic, or an overstimulated four-year-old unable to decide what to play with in a roomful of toys. Clara Clara summon a mischievous tension that builds to a dizzy head until the song crashes to an exhausted end. Hot.

The crackling sound that you hear, by the way, is the electric excitement here at the Pop de trop offices as we await the imminent, mid-March release of Clara Clara’s second album, “Comfortable Problems,” on the Paris label Clapping Music. Can’t wait!

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

The Dø - "At Last!" (2008)

I’d been listening to the Dø’s bountiful 2008 debut “A Mouthful” for a while when “At Last” snuck up on me as the stand-out track. I had originally been drawn to the album’s moody, almost sinister ballads (“When Was I Last Home?” really creeps me out) when the joyful lilt of “At Last” finally pounced. The syncopated, Frusciante-inflected guitar strums over an unhurried shaker and tambourine rhythm while singer Olivia Merilahti gushes about finally finding true love. Listen more closely and the song’s lyrics betray an emotional yo-yo: “I want to tell the whole world / But I won't say no more / No I won't make it harder on you girls.” The guilt about abandoning her still-single friends for her man doesn’t quite overwhelm Merilahti’s helium-voiced ecstasy, however. And then the bombshell slips: she’s only just met the guy! “Been walking on air for the last 92 hours.” The triangle and finger-cymbals, meanwhile, chime knowingly.

Parisian instrumentalist Dan Levy and Finnish singer Olivia Merilahti met while working on the film score for “Empire of the Wolves.” They collaborated on the music for several other films before joining forces as the Paris-based two-piece indie rock band the Dø. The two first letters of their given names inspired the band’s moniker; their initial path-crossing while recording songs for films continues to permeate their work as a band. As the stacked narratives in “At Last” illustrate, the Dø certainly know how to infuse their songs with complex, cinematic moods. The Dø artfully weave atmospheric story-telling across a variety of musical styles throughout “A Mouthful:” the mischievous jump rope sing-along of “Playground Hustle;” the Lady Sovereign-esque scenery-chewing hip-hop of “Queen Dot Com;” the ukulele and Snow White-style backing choir of “Stay (Just A Little Bit More),” the Finnish-language folk freak-out of “Unissasi Laulelet.” It’s obvious that the Dø aren’t interested in honing a single sound.

Reaching #1 on the French album charts the first week of release back in 2008, “A Mouthful” is finally getting a US release next month courtesy of Six Degrees Records. Here’s hoping it comes laden with bonus tracks; the Dø, I’m certain, have plenty more stories to tell.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Revolver - "Get Around Town" (2009)

I tuned into the Revolver saga just as their initial backlash (a necessary rite of passage for any indie rock band on the path from obscurity to omnipresence) was hitting the Parisian three-piece hard: “Get Around Town” was so popular in Paris’ hazy summer of 2009 that by the time the single made its way to the US, the only online comments I could find were vociferous complaints that the song was everywhere in France.

As a fresh pair of ears an ocean away, let me say this: “Get Around Town” clearly earned whatever airwave oversaturation it achieved. From the cheekily plucked, hollow-bodied guitar intro to the complex, almost madrigal-style three-part-harmonies, to the delightfully obtuse lyric (“it’s the body countdown, the body counts down”) to the tossed-off effortlessness with which the whole thing is delivered, “Get Around Town” is about as perfect as radio pop can get. The band brings unbridled energy—yet with an understated sense of self-control—to their material, like a Supergrass if Gaz Coombes’ idols had been Belle & Sebastian instead of the Buzzcocks. Miraculously, any preciousness is somehow left behind in childhood music lessons. Sure, Revolver has a cellist. But he’s a cellist who gets his instrumental freak on, thank you very much.

The band successfully sustains the many musical charms of “Get Around Town” throughout their full-length (albeit 25-minute) debut, “Music For A While.” The title references 17th-century British composer Henry Purcell, and, while I’m at it, yes, the band is named after the Beatles’ 1966 studio masterpiece—but despite the band’s giddy name-checks, the focus is on the songs (in particular, those gorgeous, textured vocal harmonies), not the cleverness that surrounds them. At least three other songs have the catchiness quotient of “Get Around Town” and the potential to follow it into radio intransience. Those angry comment-posting haters have their work cut out for them.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Plastiscines - "Zazie Fait De La Bicyclette" (2007)

Sauntering onto the Parisian rock scene with short, beguiling songs that radiated equal parts sass and smarts, the Plastiscines have a backstory that borders on the legendary: they met at a Libertines show, they were discovered by the producer of Kraftwerk, they were barely out of their teens when the ink was drying on their gilded record contract. From such auspicious raw materials, the Plastiscines wound up spearheading an entire movement—les bébés rockers—and, to date, earning the most stateside exposure of this rowdy Paris-based indie rock community.

It’s a crystalline, tidy sort of indie rock, to be sure. In fact, the Plastiscines navigate blithely past the cultural burden of needing to ‘rock as hard as the men’ that their female amerindie compatriots are often compelled to shoulder. Instead, the Plastiscines deliver a stripped-down sound that rocks in a compelling, often deliberately casual way that doesn’t necessarily call attention to the gender of the musicians. The singing’s another story, of course; singer/guitarist Katty Besnard’s laconic vocal delivery recalls Blondie’s Debbie Harry—a perceptive touchstone when your m.o. is balancing the seemingly incompatible mix of standoffish boredom and utter glee.

Speaking of glee, “Zazie Fait De La Bicyclette” is not the catchiest track on the album (the radio-ready “Loser”) or the one that flaunts the most punk energy (the snarling “La Regle Du Jeu”), but it is the funniest, and arguably the most joyously compelling. Over a wonky, mismatched minor key progression, Besnard describes an idealized stage-set of the most iconic elements of the Swinging Sixties (Twiggy in mini-skirts, mods and rockers facing off). Against this colorful backdrop, Besnard sings—like an 11-year-old spazz—about Zazie riding her bike at night. The band oom-pah’s along in cut time, mirroring the wobbly hold on a set of handlebars in the dark.

“Zazie” is a tossed-off, corny joke that doesn’t fit with the rest of the record. It could easily have been left off, or relegated to a b-side; but, like the titular heroine’s bicycle ride itself, sometimes the journey is more important than the destination. For now, I’m happy to pedal right behind the Plastiscines and follow them wherever they go.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Johnny Hallyday - "Rivière Ouvre Ton Lit" (1969)

Originally known as “The French Elvis Presley” for his pompadour, chiseled sneer, and hip-swinging ability to make teenaged girls shriek, Johnny Hallyday (born Jean-Philippe Smet), arguably France’s biggest rock star, is stylistically much closer to a David Bowie or a Madonna: a show-biz lifer with the chameleon-like ability to stay relevant by updating his music with the times. Astute, talented, and enduring, Hallyday has enjoyed over five full decades of top-of-the-charts success with nary a commercial lull.

In the late 1960’s, while the King himself was still struggling to overcome a decade’s worth of artistically bankrupt movies and soundtracks, Hallyday was hitting yet another creative peak. Having already squeezed the juice out of rockabilly, Motown, and Beatles covers (his frenetic version of “Got To Get You Into My Life” is magnificent and worth checking out), Hallyday dove head-first into acid rock. He assembled a stellar group of his musician friends that included Peter Frampton (then still just ‘the guitarist from Humble Pie’) and the entirety of the Small Faces to record his farewell to the 60’s. The resulting album, “Rivière... Ouvre Ton Lit,” released in 1969, was an au courant kaleidoscope of psychedelic blues rock. Rhythm section Ronnie Lane (bass) and Kenney Jones (drums), in particular, destroy mightily throughout the album. Hallyday and company concoct a heavy, spacious sound that mirrored the nascent proto-metal that bands from the Jeff Beck Group to Deep Purple were simultaneously devising across the Channel.

Leading the turbulent charge is a very confident, excited-sounding Hallyday. His gruff voice is in fine youthful form, only beginning to betray the cracks that would deepen and mature his singing in the decades ahead. Placing himself front and center of the maelstrom from the first moments of the opening (and title) track, Hallyday sings himself into a froth within the first 30 seconds and never looks back. The band matches his bubbling-over passion in breathless simpatico. By the time Hallyday finally unleashes a falsetto whoop at the song’s finale over Jones’ triumphant cymbal crashes, the sense of hard-won closure is palpable—and that's only the first track. Goodbye 60’s; hello future.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album: