The promo comes complete with an Arthur Rimbaud quote. The sleeve notes, helpfully, are solely in French. Brixton's Alabama 3 themselves come complete with a fully fledged Americana obsession, which manifests itself in daft cowboy hats and serious southern drawl inflections.
Something inside immediately screams, 'Aaargh! But you're British'. However, judge 'La Peste' solely on its musical and artistic merits and it's actually very enjoyable. It's got grooving bass lines, 'Screamdelica' beats, gospel harmonies and dark, menacing vocals. And it's truly very weird, which is a breath of fresh air in these musically safe times.
Opener 'Too Sick To Pray (Don't Call The Doctor)' is pure party vibes with an intro that sounds like a spaceship landing and the too cool chorus of "just because I burnt my bible baby, it don't mean I'm too sick to pray".
A surreal and fantastic version of The Eagles' 'Hotel California' warps and twists the original into a gem. By the time we reach the tenth track though, the novelty has worn off somewhat, although 'Sinking', ends the album in style with echoes of 'Murder Ballads' era Nick Cave.
At no point, though, does this album ever truly touch you. There doesn't appear to be a heartfelt sentiment here. It certainly wouldn't be wise to hold it close to your heart, as it would probably turn black. Pure art, no soul.
