Mille excuses Milady

Jean LeClerc (who released Mille Excuses Milady under his resurrected alias Jean Leloup) may enjoy the reputation of francophone rock's wild child, but this doesn't apply directly to his music; he has too much to say to go experimental, and settles instead for a quietly quirky, ultimately mainstream, and — of course — wordy approach. Like many French-language records, Mille Excuses Milady places heavy emphasis on lyrics, but this is no chanson — LeClerc still draws on rock, extracting plenty of simple licks from his electric but barely amped-up guitar to lead the tunes with. He is known for the African traditional music influence he picked up during his childhood years, and on tunes like "Jeune Indien" it's possible to make out the vibe reminiscent of Ali Farka Touré or the "Tuareg blues" of Tinariwen. But those not aware of the whole African deal will take the songs for what they really are — low-key, bluesy singer/songwriter stuff harking back to the glory days of Eric Clapton, Lou Reed, and Neil Young, but transforming their music into a Quebecois brand of heartland rock, more simplistic musically, but sporting an Old World elegance and melancholy — at least, on the best tracks. LeClerc fools around plenty on Mille Excuses Milady, rolling exaggerated r-r-r's over a brass section and march-paced drums of "Célérats" and moaning for full ten minutes about his monkey's untimely demise on "Monkey's Suicide" (yes, he does not shy away from English completely, as if giving the global audience a sample of what his music is really about) — and not all of those experiments work equally well (though the monkey song, surprisingly, does). The record could use some trimming, and Mille Excuses Milady lacks the explicit hooks to pull in the listener at the first spin, but given time to soak in, it can reveal its strengths, sounding brooding and slightly oddball without losing the melodic, loosely catchy edge.