(Frenchpop, Chanson française) Coralie Clement (Coralie Clément) - Qobuz releses collection - 2001-2014, FLAC, WEB (tracks), lossless

Tinkling glassware and winking eyes, cruiser bikes and trailing scarves. Coralie Clément's Bye Bye Beauté is just as evocative as its predecessor, the 2002 debut, Salle des Pas Perdus. But this time, Clément and brother/producer/principal songwriter Benjamin Biolay have added chamber pop and joyous electric guitar flourishes to their quiet street-corner line drawings. "L'Impasse" and "Indécise" are well appointed with vintage keyboards and layers of guitar; the latter suggests a Francophonic take on Bettie Serveert. Clément whispers perfectly through "L'Enfer," puts a hand on her hip for the toe-tapping "Avec Ou Sans Moi," and returns to Salle's quieter mood for the gorgeous Fender Rhodes accompaniment of "Beau Fixe." Nada Surf's Daniel Lorca duets with Clément on the lilting, modernized '60s pop of "Mais Pourtant"; Lorca also contributes instrumentally throughout Bye Bye Beauté. "Ta Révérence" is a late-album highlight -- it features a great, Joe Meek-style vibrating guitar tone that really brightens up the song. That deft touch at the mixing board is another of the little things Beauté does right. It's not a very bold album -- Clément's vocals never explore beyond a simple hush. But her delivery is nevertheless just right, and she's aided immensely by Biolay's sure-footed, inventive arrangements. Romantic, very visual, and even a little rocking at times, Bye Bye Beauté is an enjoyable pop stroll.
© Johnny Loftus /TiVo

Coralie Clément's third album, 2009's Toystore, takes the singer's winsomeness and delicacy to a whole new level. As the title implies, this album is brimming with cutie-pie instrumentation (toy Farfisas, glockenspiels, and ukuleles, just to name a few); it's the kind of thing that brings to mind Cake on Cake, Yann Tiersen (particularly his work for the movie Amelie), and Detektivbyrån. Benjamin Biolay's arrangements, intricate as clockwork, mingle pleasantly with Clément's romantic, wistful vocals. On the surface the instrumentation might seem simple and childlike, but Biolay manages to work a good helping of darkness, even malevolence, into the twinkling sounds of these diminutive instruments, and it results in some puckish, charming-as-heck music. "C'est la Vie," "So Long Babylon," and "Sono Io" are dark in the way a fairy tale or a marionette show can be dark; the syrupy-sweet materials belie the darkness and complexity stirring beneath the surface. There are a few moments when this sugariness becomes tad cloying -- one track in particular, "Je Ne Sens Plus Ton Amour," a cabaret-style piano-driven duet featuring Etienne Daho, is a bit too soggy-sweet, like cake soaked in sweetened condensed milk. Surprisingly, this has less to do with the toy instruments than it does with the piano arrangement and the overripe production; Clément and Daho sound a bit too slick and theatrical here. Toystore probably won't be remembered as one of Clément's best albums, seeing as it sounds so cute it's almost kooky. Still, it's an interesting, and well-made, detour from the chic, windswept, and wistful fare found on her previous two albums.
© Margaret Reges /TiVo