60’s French pop by way of late 90’s New York, filtered through kitsch and gimmick. And guess what, those of you expecting the prude in me to rear its soupuss head? I don’t mind a bit. They write great songs and they’re fun. And it’s all done so much so that all distance and spuriousness seems diluted and it has come for les Sans Culottes an immutable lifestyle choice. Sure, the sleazy by birthright, wolf-whistling, pre-women’s liberation movement, stereotypical girl-watching French boy is pretty much telegraphed directly, so there’s that. But maybe it’s a necessary hard pill, as though to omit it would be remiss of their guise and effect.
Adding Machine 