Carla Bruni's first collection of original material in seven years, and first release since the rather insipid covers collection French Touch in 2017, is as slight and demure as the woman herself.
A succession of short, effete songs come and go in ephemeral waves, like smoke through the alcoves of Montmartre, with wistful musings on grand amours and petit crushes. The folky Quelque Chose is breezy and flirtatious, while her unimposing yet mellifluous voice is at its best on the lilting Un Secret.
Most of the album is delivered in a semi-whisper, and in truth there’s not much to shout about — the album doesn’t so much grab you as brush past you and give a fleeting glance from the far side of a crowded room.
Bruni’s recent releases have been sporadic. A notable gap in her discography came between 2008 and 2013, which might be explained by her stint as the first lady of France alongside her spouse, Nicolas Sarkozy. This is an inoffensive yet uninspiring return.
