Rating: * * *
Verdict: C'est parfait en francais. But not so great in English.
The word chanteuse is bandied about a lot these days. It literally translates as singer but English-speakers have adopted it to mean a certain style of singer - characterised by their sultry breathiness
and general air of seduction. They don't have to sing in French but it often helps - the seduction amplified as you listen purely to the sound of their voice and not the words.
Former Nouvelle Vague singer Melanie Pain seems to prove this theory as she slips in and out of French - and in and out of favour with listeners.
In French, the soft, dreamy whisper of her voice and rolled Rs make for some charming listening - the perfect accompaniment to a glass of Pernod at sunset.
In English, Pain's songs become unbearably saccharine as she sings in a little girl voice, not helped by the fact English is her second language so her lyrics often have unnatural phrasing, similar to child-speak. There's nothing childlike, though, about Bruises, a strangely uplifting ballad about domestic violence, complete with tinkering pianos and brass fanfare.
The instrumentation on My Name saves it from becoming an entirely monotonous affair, with flourishes of trumpets, horns and stirring guitars cutting through Pain's soft drawlings. But without the Gallic accent, it doesn't quite work. The seduction gets lost in translation, leaving you with overly twee lullabies.
Joanna Hunkin
