Ben Ricour is a martyr to his music. The young singer-songwriter spent six entire months slaving away on the material for his second album, composing by night in a tiny 6m studio with no heating. Although you’d find it hard to believe, listening to the soft, soothing tracks on Ton image, all of them infused with a high degree of southern warmth and comfort.

This is one of the delightful contradictions about Ton image, an album inspired by the darkest depths of winter. It is as if Ricour’s warm, sensual vocals actually tremble with anticipation, looking forward to the frost and the winter chill on L’Heure d’hiver (a song set to get extensive airplay this winter). Meanwhile, on the title track from his album, the snow and the cold revive romantic memories of a lost love and here Ricour’s vocals are set against a luminous swing guitar sound.

The seasons may pass but, it seems, the essence of Ricour’s success remains firmly intact. And what, you may ask, is his secret? Firstly, the sheer elegance of his bitter-sweet lyrics (occasionally penned by Pierre Grillet or Michael Furnon for Sors de l’ombre). Secondly, those soft, languid vocals which have earned Ricour such an ardent following of female fans (and led to him being dubbed “a woman’s singer”). And, last but very much not least, the upbeat pop-folk sound Ricour excels at live on stage and on the excellent Tu es attendue.

However, the truly outstanding track of Ben Ricour’s second album has to be Alors t’es là…, a superbly written, superbly moving ballad dedicated to an old schoolfriend who died at the age of 17. Even in the midst of his most winter-warming pop, the Parisian troubadour knows how to bring a tear to the eye.

Jérôme Pichon