On her second album (roughly translated as "twenty to thirty thousand days"), French chanteuse Francoiz Breut resembles a sultry lounge singer, while songwriter/partner (and notable vocalist in his own right) Dominique A is like a jazz-obsessed beatnik. Most lyrics are in French, though Breut says plenty with her half-spoken, half-sung grief. When they decide to plug in the electric guitar, like on the playful "L'origine du Monde," Breut proves that she can be fashionably upbeat. The Western-flavored guitar threads Vingt a ...
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On her second album (roughly translated as "twenty to thirty thousand days"), French chanteuse Francoiz Breut resembles a sultry lounge singer, while songwriter/partner (and notable vocalist in his own right) Dominique A is like a jazz-obsessed beatnik. Most lyrics are in French, though Breut says plenty with her half-spoken, half-sung grief. When they decide to plug in the electric guitar, like on the playful "L'origine du Monde," Breut proves that she can be fashionably upbeat. The Western-flavored guitar threads Vingt a Trente Mille Jours together, while the violins give the record its most exquisite moments. ~ Kenyon Hopkin, Rovi
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