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After enchanting domestic and international audiences alike, Frenchwoman Camille Dalmias is back. Her second album Le Fil garnered the admirable achievement of both critical success at home (the Prix Constantin, similar to the British Mercury Prize for up and coming artists), and popular acclaim in the US, UK and Australia. And it’s perhaps with these new fans in mind that Camille returns with her third album. Music Hole is largely an English-language album, however she does include a smattering of breathy French intros and outros, in what seems to poke fun at those of us who love the sound of the French language without actually understanding it.
Indeed, the entire album can be likened to French film; one can’t be sure how seriously to take any of the sentiments. From the anti-religious gospel of Gospel With No Lord (“I didn’t get it from the Lord/I got it from my brother”) to the anti-diva pop of Money Note , Music Hole’s tongue is planted firmly in the highly talented and engaging cheek of Camille. Her vocal range and control is stunning, but what is more admirable is her willingness to take potentially ugly and embarrassing shapes in pursuit of the various track concepts. From the African animal chants of Canards Sauvages , to mimicking woofs and meows in the Marlene Dietrich-esque Cats and Dogs , to an overcome, semi-orgasmic French maid in Money Note , there is a refreshing bravery to Camille’s vocals. In fact, it could be argued that the only other female artists in contemporary music so willing to strip conventional prettiness from their voice in the pursuit of cutting edge performance, would be Karin Dreijer Andersson of The Knife and Bjork. Fine company indeed.
And Music Hole is reminiscent of Bjork’s ground-breaking Medulla in its inventive use of the human voice: beatboxed basslines permeate even the most simple ballads, sweeping sopranos work as a human Theremin and chords are replaced with high pitched vocal toots and coos. Nowhere is this more breathtaking than in The Monk , a truly astonishing choral symphony ranging from an operatic waver looped continuously over layer upon layer of harmonised vocal samples of Camille’s own pinched, contorted, smoothed and grunting voice. The overall effect is a truly original, transcendent work of art; well worth buying the album for alone.
The only let down of the album is the final track” a saccharine, by-the-numbers American-style ballad in Sanges Sweet . However my advice is to simply delete this from your iPod and enjoy the intelligence, talent and originality of one of pop’s true modern wonders.
