Machinchose / C’est pas pour danser (East West/Warner)

Of this year's batch of new arrivals, Machinchose is undoubtedly the most unruly and undisciplined. Seen by many as the wild card in the pack, this young musician from Nantes has shown a clear penchant for provocation and a love of the absurd. But his career has actually followed a classic route. Eugène Lampion (for such was his name when he first started out in the music business) attended local art school in Nantes, then hosted his own radio show before going on to study electro-acoustic composition at the National Conservatoire. Changing his name from Eugène Lampion to Machin - and calling all his songs Des choses ("things") – young Eugène finally ended up metamorphosing into the anonymous Machinchose (Thingumajig).

Machinchose had pursued a fairly low-key career, but then much to everyone's surprise, the Eastwest label plucked the Nantes-born musician out of obscurity, releasing his debut album C’est pas pour danser. As the title Not for dancing suggests, the 22 tracks on Machinchose's album are neither simple, melodious nor in fact, readily accessible to untrained ears. At times the guitarist/accordionist/machine whizzkid seems happy to construct his arrangements around two chords, four basic notes and a spot of general handclapping – and you can't help but wonder whether Machinchose has ever given much thought to the notion of listener satisfaction! One thing's for sure, however, the expressions "harmonic" or "way too strident" certainly don't come into his vocabulary.

In terms of lyrics, Machinchose appears to tend towards obscurity. Besides reciting general lists of his food preferences - "J’avoue, j’aime bien les frites, les Nouilles au beurre, Marrons glacés, Radis, petit pois, haricot vert…" ("I admit, I really like chips, buttered noodles, sugared chestnuts, peas, radishes and string beans!") – Machinchose goes in for a good deal of puns and wordplay in his song titles and, someone should perhaps point out that his heavy-handed humour is not always successful.

However, Machinchose's songwriting should not always be taken at face value perhaps. As the singer himself states in his Chanson au rouleau – "Si vous ne comprenez pas mes mots c’est que vos oreilles sont dans le mauvais sens/ Il n’est pas question ici de mauvais goût mais de bon sens" ("If you don't understand my lyrics, you've got your ears screwed on backwards/ It's not so much a question of bad taste, but good sense!"). Certain tracks on the album – namely Sandwich au poil, Samedi and Un cheval des chevaux – actually work pretty well. And we have to admit, Machinchose's CD booklet, featuring handy tips on what not to do with your album (e.g. "Don't throw in the litter bin", "Don't throw under a passing tractor" etc) raised a few smiles in the office. But you have been warned – this album is definitely not for dancing!

Don't be fooled by the name, Luke is not a solo artist but a group of five talented musicians who hope to make a name for themselves on the French rock scene. And, judging by the speed with which BMG snapped up the group's first album, la Vie presque, this hope is more than well-founded. La Vie presque is actually astonishingly mature and accomplished for a debut album and a number of French radio stations have already expressed interest in Luke, giving Se taire, the first single release from the album, extensive airplay.

On a first listen, Luke's debut album appears to be lacking in outright originality. Backed by a classic formation of two guitars, bass, drums and keyboards, the lead singer coaxes his voice between singing and whispering, ending his phrases on a moody sigh (a style which, let's face it, we've all heard a million times before). But on a second listen, the Luke sound begins to grab you and you start noticing the finely-constructed arrangements, the skilful programming and the group's masterly way with electric guitars.

Luke's lyrics revolve around adolescent angst, yet somehow manage to avoid the pitfalls of pre-pubescent cliches. And, while the group's songs do not exactly push back new literary boundaries, their lyrics are charged with a certain rites-of-passage dignity. "Car il faudra bien courir ces dames / il faudra bien s’ouvrir les veines / Pour dire les mots qui vous damnent / en oubliant les parents qui vous aiment / il faudra bien se construire" (You'll have to chase the women/ And slit your wrists/ Say the words that damn you/ Forget the parents who love you / It's all part of constructing your own identity). All we can say is, judging by this extract from la Cour des grands, you'll be hearing a lot more from this young fivesome in future!

Of all the new schoolkids lined up on the benches this term, Julien Ribot is undoubtedly the coolest and trendiest. Ribot has already attracted serious attention in journalistic circles and those who wish to make friends and influence people have been heard dropping his name at hip restaurants and dinner parties. And rightly so – because far from being a chart phenomenon dreamt up by a marketing department, Julien Ribot is a gifted and intelligent singer/musician who writes all his own lyrics, looks after his own musical arrangements and designs his own CD booklets. (In fact, is there anything this man can't do?)

Snapped up by the label Ici d’ailleurs, Ribot has established a reputation for mixing computer-generated music with samples, complex fusion sounds and contributions from his "Hitoribocchi Orchestra" (bass, drums, guitar and trumpet). Critics have compared Ribot's smooth brand of minimalist 'chanson' to Beck, Katerine, Dominique A and, on rarer occasions, the Little Rabbits. And Ribot certainly claims allegiance to this 'family', inviting Françoiz Breut to guest on a song on his debut album, Hôtel Bocchi. In fact, female backing vocals and child-like voices play a major role on Hôtel Bocchi, laughing, chattering and humming away in the background of several tracks.

Creating an arrestingly strange universe peopled with fantastic characters and oneiric images, Ribot conjures up the atmosphere of a cartoon horror film or a haunted funground. Idyllic images reveal horrific undersides at the flick of a switch and old hotel bars are haunted by "a horrible half-naked child-saint sipping on a dry Martini…". Julien Ribot has certainly proved himself as the French music world's new Rimbaud, but he should perhaps guard against becoming too fashionable, overly poetic and not readily accessible enough to mainstream listeners.

Lœil, one of the latest signings to the Island label, are a hot new fivesome from Avignon who play a cutting-edge style of contemporary rock. What's more, the band's lead singer, Gilles Doyen – a sort of hybrid of Bashung and Bertrand Cantat (from Noir Désir) – is far and away the most talented vocalist in this selection. Indeed, you only have to listen to the chorus of Métropolitain to be blown away by the power of Doyen's bass notes and his vocal capacities!

Lyrically speaking, Lœil's songs are razor-sharp gems, glinting with rough poetry and heavily charged with the mysteries of sex and death. The band's compositions are superbly well-crafted, subtly arranged and make clever use of electric instruments and samplers. Add to that a burst of heavy drumming, excellent percussion and a lot of original ideas, and you have a sure winner. The only drawback is that listening to the ten tracks on Lœil's debut album, Bulles (Bubbles), none of them seem to fizz with real chart potential. But the album is certainly worth investing in for a number of stunning musical moments such as the "phonographic" instrumental finale.