"We all got the same urge right at the same time. After the direct, spontaneous arrangements of our work ‘till now, we were in search of something more purposeful." And thus one of today’s best French albums was born, and easily the band’s best so far. Faux mouvement (false move) takes after the female thirtysomethings of the new millennium: sensitive and determined, arrogant but oh so affectionate! The band has come a long way since its early recording days, five years ago, with their Britpop guitar sounds and agonising lyrics. «It was straightforward: bass guitar, drums, lead guitar,» says Valérie Leulliot, Autour de Lucie’s lead-singer and writer of almost all their songs.
It all began with a young woman, the daughter of a well-known TV journalist and radio celebrity. «I had a pretty lonely childhood. I’d go around with headphones on. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters and went to an all-girls school. Later, I just put my head down and moved from job to job, from disappointment to disappointment. When I got into music, I hadn’t had much experience of life.»

She wasn’t into the singer-plus-musicians set-up; instead she wanted to form a genuine group. Gradually, Autour de Lucie was put together, through various meetings and a strong desire to play impulsive songs. The first album, L'Échappée belle (a narrow escape) came out in November 1994, followed by Immobile (immobile) in March 1997. The electric guitars stole the show and the list of concert venues grew longer by the day. «We suddenly wanted to make a less off-the-cuff record,» says Valérie Leulliot. The band decided to go back to school and for several months worked on reshaping their talents and putting together a library of electronic sounds.
Ian Capple, who produced Alain Bashung’s fantastic album Fantaisie militaire (military fantasy), was called in to record Faux mouvement. The album flirts with a sizzling mixture of slightly exotic sounds, synthetic rhythmics and mystical waves. An orchestra provides backup, and the guitars are mostly silent. When he met Valérie Leulliot, Ian Capple saw her as the epitome of 60s female artists — so does she.
Her lyrics are remarkably truthful. This woman has got her finger firmly on the pulse. Always soul-searching, with slice-of-live details. Not a hint of the current trend for impassioned, dizzy vocal performances. She captures the sobriety of Françoise Hardy but is as comforting as the sweet Catherine Sauvage, while perfectly encapsulating her era. «Quoi de plus familier que des corps étrangers?» (what’s more familiar than the body of a stranger?) she sings, in that wonderfully reassuring tone: the quintessential paradox of a woman who has found happiness but has her eyes wide open…

And yet Valérie Leulliot doesn’t see herself as a solo singer: «I’m not a musician, I just know enough guitar and piano to be able to write songs – they’re tools for me. I couldn’t produce anything alone that would be fit for other people’s ears!. I am the least talented musician in the band. It’s the arrangements I come up with that allow us to create songs. I contribute impressions, which we then work on together.»
So getting to grips with the sampler was a revelation for Valérie. It opened up a wealth of textures and inventions ushered in by the latest electronic song-writing methods, even though it’s a less straightforward process than in the days of two-beat pop and rock. «What matters is whether, once the song’s over, the feeling you had when you picked up the guitar to play the start, the very first time, is still the same.»

The emotional stakes are central, vital. «My life has at last got meaning,» says Valérie Leulliot, with the earnestness only honest souls are capable of. And she admits: «I don’t know if I’ll still be performing live in ten or fifteen years time – I doubt it – but music will always be my life.» Now that’s a fine idea.