The explosion of interest in all thing French and electronic in the late ’90s now feels like a collective daydream. With Air and Daft Punk part of the establishment while also-rans Motorbass, Dimitri From Paris and Phoenix plod on to little acclaim outside east London, it now seems like a scene with less impact than Fraggle.
Reviving Gallicbeat (or whatever you might want to call it, circa 2004) are Aloud, whose press clippings predictably include raves in The Face (R.I.P.), Mixmag and, er, Gay UK. Cyril Bodin and Greg Louis hail from the 17th arrondissement in Paris, between the Arc de Triomphe and Montmartre, which one can only assume is twinned with Hoxton. Yet this, their debut album, has none of the novelty or invention of either “Moon Safari” or “Homework”, preferring instead to spoof the tail-end of disco/’80s soul axis of evil.
Bodin’s voice recalls Marillion’s Fish, wringing every possible emotion out of gibberish lyrics (“Rotten apples’ worms are my best friends…”) while producer Louis indulges himself with knowingly retro synth and vocoder effects that are surely the wet dreams of back-bedroom Trevor Hornes everywhere.
Spanning overwrought faux-soft rock balladry (“Face No More” – geddit? – “Lost Angeles” – oh my sides! – and “Musique”) and George Michael-style floor-fillers (singles “Bob O’Lean” and “Sex & Sun”), “Aloud” is the sound of two smug people making an album so arch it’s a wonder they could finish it for all the laughs they must have had at the expense of future listeners. It even ends with the sound of a tape unspooling – how do they think them up? Aloud shouldn’t be.
