One record at a time: 535. Jean Michel Jarre - Versailles 400

“Versailles 400” documents a concert Jarre gave at the Château de Versailles on Christmas Day 2023. Ostensibly, the performance marked the 400th anniversary of the palace, although once you remember that Versailles is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and Jarre is a UNESCO Goodwill Ambassador, you can probably make an educated guess as to who bankrolled the whole thing.

As the concert was held in the Hall of Mirrors, they could only squeeze a few hundred people into the room, so the event was broadcast on YouTube for the unwashed masses. I suspect you had to be related to Jarre, employed by UNESCO, or have a surname that appears on a building somewhere in Paris to get a ticket. The first recordings of the concert were released digitally, with this vinyl edition following the following  year as a limited run of 2,000 individually numbered copies.

As for the music, I’ve complained before about Jarre going all techno and his apparently constant need to update his classic works in an EDM style. I’m not a fan of this approach. I love a solid four-on-the-floor kick drum as much as the next person, especially if the next person is standing in a field in Belgium at three in the morning, but Jarre was always about more than that. His melodies, beguiling chords and sweeping atmospheric twinkle were the point. Put them under a formulaic techno sheen and even the most impressive compositions start to sound oddly flat, like champagne served in a sports bottle.

After the twee and rather fake-sounding baroque opening “La Château”, we are thrust into “Epica Oxygene”. As the name suggests, this is an amalgam of “Oxygene Part IV” and “Epica”. Before you start applauding Jarre’s seemingly endless drive to innovate, it is worth noting that the track was originally created for a Renault commercial. Jarre might call it “a design collaboration”, but he has essentially slapped the tune from “Oxygene” over the beats of “Epica”, given it a polish, and hoped nobody checked the service history. The end result is fine, but it is hardly going to blow up YouTube.

Whenever Jarre plays “Oxygene 2” nowadays, he seems to insist on subjecting us to two and a half minutes of directionless improvisation before launching into the distinctive melody. All this noodling does nothing for the composition. It does not build atmosphere or anticipation; it just gets in the way of the bit we all paid to hear, like someone explaining the fire exits during the best part of a film. “Equinoxe 4” sounds similar to the lacklustre version he created in 1990 for the “Paris La Défense” concert, while the sped-up version of “Equinoxe 7” sounds like it is in a hurry to get out of there because it has remembered it has left the oven on. 

One of my favourite Jarre tracks is “Chronologie 6”, and the version here benefits from staying largely faithful to the perfection of the original. “Zero Gravity” and “Stardust” are a couple of techno and trance behemoths that you either love or loathe. I’m sure younger fans might like them, but for me these tracks don’t really represent Jarre. There is something slightly wrong about a man approaching eighty years of age knocking out thumping techno. Admirable, certainly. Unexpected, definitely. But still slightly like finding your grandad headlining Creamfields. I’m glad the big man is still around, actively making music and engaging with his fans. I just wish he’d make some music I can enjoy again. Never has a lazily created AI image with little relevance to the music been such a fitting sleeve. 2/5

One record at a time: 534. Jean Michel Jarre - Oxymore Works

Back in 2023, I reviewed Jarre's album "Oxymore" and found it dull, oddly joyless, and almost entirely free of either melody or groove, which is quite an achievement for an electronic album. I suggested it was one of his worst records, and time has not softened my view. 

For reasons best known to Jarre, he then released this remix album in which he invited other artists to create new versions of tracks from "Oxymore". In theory, this extends the "Electronica" concept, but in practice it means household names such as Deathpact, French 79 and NSDOS (No? Me neither) get to add a four-on-the-floor kick drum under Jarre’s abstract noodling. Martin Gore of Depeche Mode and Brian Eno return, while Armin van Buuren arrives to pour a thick layer of generic trance over one track, like custard on a circuit board.

Gore's effort, "Brutalism" is a fairly straightforward techno track that repurposes some of the samples from the original and carries the same sinister vibe, but it has neither the groove nor the ideas to sustain interest across its five-minute runtime. It is a similar story with "Epica Extension", which uses the same sound palette as the original and throws in additional rhythm, but still manages to remain stubbornly boring. The same track is also reworked with Armin van Buuren, with results that are exactly as predictable as you fear. "Sex In The Machine Take 2" sounds like something any bedroom musician with a copy of Fruity Loops could create, and the two takes on "Zeitheist" towards the end of the album are similarly vanilla.

My favourite track here is "Brutalism Reprise" which was recorded with Deathpact. You should probably adjust your expectations if you are waiting for the new "Chronologie Part 4", but this one does actually sound pretty good and, more importantly, has something new to offer. The presence of one good track makes this album less a mixed bag and more a charity shop lucky dip where the one decent item is buried beneath several cracked ashtrays and a fondue set nobody wanted in the first place. Honestly, I'd rather listen to David Gray than this, and I do not say that lightly. My fear is that one day the great man might pass from this world, and something like this will end up being his swan song. 1/5

One record at a time: 533. Jean Michel Jarre - Les Granges Brûlées

Created with rudimentary instruments and released before Jean-Michel Jarre had become an established recording artist, “Les Granges Brûlées” occupies that strange pre-fame territory where historical importance and actual listenability are not always on speaking terms. 

As this album was not repressed following its initial release in 1973, it had become rare and sought-after by the time I became aware of it in 1989. Like “Deserted Palace”, I first heard it on a bootleg CD called “Rarities”, and I was so startled by its sound that I half believed it could not really be the work of Jarre at all. It felt less like the missing link between “Deserted Palace” and “Oxygène” and more like someone had locked a young composer in a cupboard with a synthesiser, an organ, and only intermittent access to daylight.

This is, of course, a soundtrack to a film, although once I had heard the music I cannot say I was seized by an urgent need to watch it. Soundtracks are tricky beasts. They may be perfect when welded to the visuals, but left to fend for themselves on a stereo they can sound like someone has mislaid half the evidence. In this case, the film may well be supplying all the tension, motive and atmosphere that the album merely gestures towards.

There are melodies here, and the main theme is perfectly respectable, but the EMS Synthi VCS3 and Farfisa organ seem to be working overtime to produce even the most rudimentary sounds. Given the sparse equipment involved, that is perhaps part of the fascination: you can almost hear the machinery thinking about what it wants to be when it grows up. Even so, fascination is not quite the same as enjoyment. 

Much of the album has an abstract, wintry seriousness to it, while “Zig-Zag” is the obvious anomaly, sitting awkwardly against the record’s otherwise tense and skeletal tone. I still cannot imagine what scene it was meant to accompany, unless the film briefly turns into a chase sequence involving a clown, a small dog, and a suspiciously well-stocked trail of banana skins. To be honest, I was not really surprised that neither Jarre nor his record label appeared to be in a great hurry to re-release the album.

Then, completely out of the blue, “Les Granges Brûlées” finally received an official CD reissue in 2003. Fast forward another twenty years and this limited edition vinyl appeared via Bandcamp on Transversales Disques, remastered from the original master tapes. The record is very nicely pressed and comes in a poly-lined sleeve with a separate card inner, along with that all-important collector’s guarantee of quality: an Obi strip. Because nothing says “serious archival release” quite like a decorative band of paper that immediately makes you terrified of damaging the packaging. 

All in all, this is a handsome, well-presented release with strong sound reproduction and a genuine sense of historical value. It is also, regrettably, a reminder that not every historically interesting record needs to be invited round for dinner. As a document of early electronic film scoring, it is fascinating; as an album to play for pleasure, it remains rather skeletal when divorced from its visuals. 2/5

One record at a time: 532. Jean Michel Jarre - Deserted Palace

Back in 1989, I bought Jean-Louis Remilleux’s biography of Jean-Michel Jarre. Before the internet turned every obscure fact into a three-second search, books like this were a goldmine for music-obsessed teenagers like me. While reading it, I spotted a partial discography on page 31 that listed two albums I had never heard of. Until then, I had assumed Jarre’s career began with “Oxygène”, so it was a genuine revelation to discover that his debut was actually “Deserted Palace” from 1972. 

The record was long out of print and certainly not lurking hopefully in the CD racks of my local HMV, so it quickly took on near-mythical status. I resigned myself to never owning a copy, and probably never hearing the music at all. Over the years, the occasional LP would surface in mail-order catalogues, but the asking price seemed less like retail and more like a ransom note printed in Record Collector magazine. As a teenager, I could barely afford the French maestro’s latest CD, never mind a rare collector’s item changing hands for hundreds of pounds. 

I did finally get to hear the music when I bought a bootleg CD called “Rarities” in the early nineties. When I first played it, I have to admit I was a little underwhelmed. I had not expected the album to be as polished as “Oxygène” or “Équinoxe”, but I was not quite prepared for how raw, slight and frankly odd it sounded. It was less the grand opening chapter of a glittering electronic career and more the sound of someone finding the keys to the synth cupboard and deciding to have a busy afternoon.

At this stage of his career, Jarre was still a jobbing songwriter and producer rather than the spectacular recording artist who would later fill docklands, skylines and UNESCO-approved landmarks with lasers. “Deserted Palace” was not designed as a conventional pop album. It was a library record, intended to provide short electronic pieces for use in television and media productions. Electronic music was still in its infancy in 1972, so perhaps the hope was that these strange new sounds would appeal to producers and creative types looking for something futuristic, unusual or just sufficiently inexpensive.

The album covers a surprising range of styles, including rap, baroque pastiche, rock gestures and more abstract experimental pieces, although everything is realised through the rather unforgiving combination of a VCS3 synthesiser and a Farfisa organ. As a result, the sound palette is limited, to put it kindly. Some tracks hint at melodies and ideas that would later become far more convincing in Jarre’s hands, but others sound like they were assembled while the equipment was still reading the instruction manual.

This new 2025 pressing is nicely presented, and the back cover describes it as “Volume 1”, which is optimistic in a way I almost admire. Whether “Volume 2” ever emerges remains to be seen, but I am not clearing shelf space just yet. As a historical curiosity, “Deserted Palace” is interesting, and for Jarre completists it fills an important gap. As an album to actually sit and enjoy, however, it is rather hard work. The palace may be deserted, but on this evidence, it may also have had a few problems with the heating. 1/5

One record at a time: 531. Goldfrapp - Felt Mountain

Almost four years ago I confidently declared that I had never felt the urge to buy Goldfrapp's debut album, "Felt Mountain", because it was relatively expensive and it did not seem entirely suited to my taste. Naturally I bought it less than two weeks later. 

In my defence, it was the limited edition reissue and, from memory, cost less than fifteen pounds, which moved it swiftly from "probably not for me" to "well, it would be rude not to". The vinyl is described as "gold" on the promo stricker, although one Discogs reviewer gets much closer to the truth by calling it "watered-down pilsner" or a "slightly hazy urine colour". The sound reproduction is OK but it isn't exactly amazing. This seems the norm nowadays: middling is the standard pressing plants hold themselves to.

The music on this record has a noticeably different character from the sound that would later come to define Goldfrapp. It is still electronic, but not in the glossy, pulsing, slightly grubby way that "Black Cherry" would soon make so irresistible. Instead, this is a stranger, slower and more cinematic record, full of downtempo arrangements, icy strings and trip-hop vibes. It feels less like a straightforward pop album and more like the soundtrack to an old European film you are not entirely sure you understand, but have decided to sit through because all your friends says it is good. 

The opening track, "Lovely Head", is still a striking way to begin. That whistling is instantly memorable, floating in like a ghost with excellent breath control, before Alison’s voice arrives sounding both glamorous and faintly alarming. It is the sort of track that makes the room feel several degrees colder, but in a sophisticated way, as if your central heating has been removed and replaced by an ice sculpture. 

"Human" is the standout for me. It has that dark, smoky, trip-hop feel that brings Portishead to mind, except here it feels smoother, stranger and, whisper it quietly, possibly better. There is a slink to it, a menace, and a sense of drama that never topples into overacting. "Utopia" is another highlight, all sweeping elegance and floating melodies. The album version is good, but the single version adds that extra sprinkle of fairy dust the album take could really have used. It is not a huge difference, but it is the difference between a perfectly nice cake and one that arrives with sparklers and a slightly overcommitted waiter.

Beyond those moments, "Felt Mountain" becomes a more mixed experience. Much of it is perfectly pleasant, often beautifully produced, and ideal background music while working. It drifts around the room with poise and good manners, occasionally looking over your shoulder as you answer emails. The problem is that too much of it settles into the same misty mood, where everything sounds carefully arranged but not always terribly essential.

Still, Felt Mountain has a distinctive identity, and that counts for a lot. It sounds like nothing else in Goldfrapp’s catalogue, certainly not the glossy electro-pop that would follow, and there is something admirable about its commitment to mood over obvious hooks. It may not all land for me, but when it does, it is superb. "Lovely Head", "Human" and "Utopia" are strong enough to justify the trip up the mountain. 2.5/5

One record at a time: 530. Alison Goldfrapp - Flux

Two years after "The Love Invention", Alison Goldfrapp returned in 2025 with "Flux", her second solo album and the first release on her own A.G. Records label. If her debut was a confident stride onto the dancefloor, Flux feels like a continuation of that journey, only with a little more depth tucked beneath the shimmer. The music is still sleek, synthetic and beautifully upholstered, but there is more space here, more atmosphere, and rather more gazing at the sky while quietly wondering what it all means. Which, frankly, feels very Alison Goldfrapp.

I pre-ordered the standard black vinyl from Alison’s webstore, lured in by the promise of an art print that turned out to be rather underwhelming and not quite as exclusive as advertised. Then I spotted the slightly more coveted 'acid yellow' version in a gatefold sleeve in HMV and, naturally, couldn’t resist. They even threw in a postcard, so really, what choice did I have?

As if further proof were needed of Richard X’s genius, he returns here as writer and producer, bringing with him that immaculate electro-pop sheen that sounds as though someone has taken a polishing cloth to a very expensive synthesiser. He is complemented by Swedish all-round clever clogs Stefan Storm, whose contributions help give the album its dreamy, Nordic shimmer. The icing on the cake is provided by the magnificent string arrangements of Davide Rossi, whose playing adds real emotional lift without ever making the record feel overstuffed.

Until I heard this album, I had not realised that Rossi works by recording all the string parts himself. He writes the arrangement, then records dozens of separate takes on top of one another. By slightly shifting his physical position and changing instruments, he creates the natural timing and pitch variations of a real live orchestra, while avoiding the phasing and other issues that affected bands like Electric Light Orchestra when they tried similar techniques back in the seventies. It is a wonderfully old-fashioned idea delivered with modern precision: one man painstakingly pretending to be an orchestra, which is either artistic genius or a very elaborate way of avoiding having to book a rehearsal room.

The album opens with “Hey Hi Hello”, a song that does exactly what an opener should do: it ushers you in with a smile, a shimmer and the faint suspicion that the lighting budget has been totally rinsed. “Sound & Light” follows with a broader sense of wonder and the slightly dangerous urge to turn every personal revelation into a very elegant synth line. There is some genuine emotion in this record too, with songs like “Perfect Lies” feeling strangely autobiographical, as if something more personal is flickering beneath the immaculate surface.

“Reverberotic” is one of the album’s most immediate pleasures, all robotic pulse and glossy suggestion, and its quirky textures are hard to deny. “Find Xanadu” gives the record its clearest pop moment. It is bright, melodic and just knowingly ridiculous enough to work, which is often where Goldfrapp is at her best. “UltraSky” and “Strange Things Happen” lean more heavily into atmosphere, drifting through clouds of synth and strings with the sort of poise that makes you feel underdressed just listening to them. 

For me, “Cinnamon Light” is the special one, both in concept and execution. It has that slightly woozy eighties glow that Goldfrapp does so well, but there is a vulnerability beneath the gloss that keeps it from becoming mere retro styling. The strings do not swamp the song; they seem to breathe around it. It is understated, graceful and quietly affecting, the sort of track that does not elbow its way to the front but ends up staying with you long after the brighter singles have done their glittery business. 

“Play It (Shine Like a Nova Star)” adds a firmer thump and a welcome flash of club energy, reminding you that Goldfrapp can still make electronic pop feel bodily rather than merely decorative. The slinky and reflective "Ordinary Day" begins to wind the album down before the heat and grit of "Magma" delivers the final glorious blow. 

Overall, "Flux" feels less like refinement rather than reinvention. It does not have the shock of the new, and it probably will not convert anyone who has always found Alison's solo work a little too cool to touch, but it is a stronger, richer and more emotionally open record than it first appears. 4.5/5

One record at a time: 529. Alison Goldfrapp - The Love Reinvention

Although this remix album began life as a set of digital files, it did receive a limited run of 1,000 physical copies for Record Store Day in 2023. Naturally, I had no intention of standing outside a shop for hours with middle aged men who talk to themselves, so I did the sensible thing and bought it online once the stampede had passed. At the time, it sold for a perfectly reasonable retail price. Now, inevitably, people are asking daft money for it, because nothing says "celebration of independent record shops" quite like giving scalpers an opportunity to line their pockets. 

As I mentioned when writing about the original album, the material being reworked here is already elegant, synthetic and quietly euphoric, so the remixers are not exactly starting with a packet of crayons in one colour. Working again with Richard X and James Greenwood, the project reshapes the 11-track set through a polished blend of techno, electronica and deep house. I tend to prefer remixes made by the original artist or producer, because they usually preserve the DNA of the source material while finding new angles within it. In short,these mixes feel like alternative versions rather than having been completely anonymised by people like The Orb or Underworld.

"Never Stop Loving" increases the tempo and somehow manages to turn the fat bassline of the original into something monstrous, the sort of thing that does not so much test your speakers as threaten them with destruction. The seven minutes fly by in a relentless barrage that compels you to dance, or at least move your arms in time with the music while pretending you have not put your back out unloading the dishwasher. There are still traces of the original’s romance and shimmer, but everything has been tightened, polished and sent out under a mirror ball with clearer instructions.

The title track picks up that idea and runs with it, pulsing along with a faint whiff of Kraftwerk in its clipped rhythms and clean electronic lines. Alison’s voice remains the human centre of it all, drifting through the circuitry rather than being buried beneath it, which is where these remixes work best. They never forget that beneath the programming, filters and beautifully buffed surfaces, there are actual songs trying to breathe.

"Dug Deeper" leans harder into the club sound without abandoning what made the original work. It has more weight, more propulsion and a slightly sweatier feel, as if someone opened the studio door and discovered there was a basement rave going on underneath. That is the trick across the album: the mixes stretch out, most of them comfortably passing the five minute mark, but they rarely feel padded. The extra space gives the arrangements room to build, circle back and reveal small details that might otherwise have flashed past in the original versions.

What helps "The Love Reinvention" avoid the usual remix album trap is that it feels curated rather than emptied out and repacked for the dance tent. There is a proper sense of continuity here, but also enough movement and muscle to justify its existence as a separate listen. It is less a random bundle of versions and more a late night reflection of the parent album, the same songs seen through glass, smoke and possibly a very expensive lighting rig.

Whilst I love this album, it won't convert anyone allergic to extended electronic mixes, and it may test the patience of those who think every song should get to the point before the kettle boils. For the rest of us, though, it is a generous, stylish and surprisingly cohesive companion piece. Just do not pay a ridiculous resale price for it, unless you enjoy being mugged by someone with a plastic outer sleeve and a Discogs account. 4/5