Now, though, the nation has something to hang its hat on (besides the Olympics) in the form of Trois, Deux, Un, the third album from the retro-leaning Parisian indie poppers Juniore. Befitting a band of their impossible cool, they’ve moved at a leisurely pace, here dropping just their third record in a decade of existence, a continuation of sorts from 202’s Un, Deux, Trois. The steady evolution has paid off, though: this is their best sounding LP to date, with surfy guitars, waves of organs, and detached vocals to die for. Fans of Broadcast, Stereolab, or the decade “the nineteen sixties” will find themselves right at home here.
Juniore may keep a deliberate pace in the studio, but Trois, Deux, Un is far from bereft of energy. Opener “Le Silence” kicks things off apace with an abundance of pep, the guitar and bass lines snaking around one another, singer Anna Jean irresistibly aloof at the mic. Juniore don’t move towards the chorus so much as tumble headlong into it; it’s music for a party you’d never be hip enough to be invited to. While Juniore don’t do heavy, per se, they give a good approximation on “Voila Voila”, whose big stabs of organ give the impression of an implacable facade finally crumbling.
Indeed they demonstrate their knack for drama a few times.
“Amour Fou” is a downbeat highlight. Francophone listeners – or really
those reasonably up to date with their Duolingo – can pick out the
references to a premier rendezvous and a pined-after grande amour, but the heart wrenching balladry speaks for itself. Jean seldom gives it the full chanteuse,
but the emotion she allows to seep into her voice on the choruses is
all the more effective for her otherwise understatedness. On the other
end of the spectrum, “Déjà Vu” is technicolour fun, with its sproingy
guitars and wolfishly whooped backing vocals.
Arguably, though, they’re never in a sweeter spot than when
they’re just vibing and keeping it simple. They can lock into a groove
like nobody’s business, and when they find the right sounds, they play
the kind of songs you’d be happy if they never ended. They won’t let you
catch them exerting themselves on the terrific “En Fumée” – the bass
barely moves, and the keys aren’t doing a whole lot more. But that
insouciance is part of the package. A trumpet appears, because of course
it does, for a Chet Baker-on-”Shipbuilding” style solo. Juniore inhabit
the kind of world where horn players just show up. They save their best
hooks for single “Méditerranée”, whose rolling pianos give the album an
indelible earworm as well as a great shot at appearing in an advert
within the year.
It’s fair to say Trois, Deux, Un is on the
repetitive side (at least three songs start with exactly the same guitar
glissando), but whether that’s necessarily detrimental or not is to the
listener’s taste. This is throwback music that steers clear of pastiche
by virtue of strong songwriting and a sound that’s matured like a fine
Bordeaux. Ultimately this is fantastic main character mood music for the
turning of the seasons. If you want to, say, stride through crisp
leaves on a bright Sunday in your finest autumnal clothes, there won’t
be a record out this quarter that’ll make you feel more debonair.
