In the past, Vanot's name has been associated with bitter-sweet melodies such as L'Hirondelle and Corvéable à merci, his style based on an improbable combination of minimalist production, 'noisist' rock and poeticised Renaissance language. Then, of course, there are those haunting vocals, that slim, emotive tenor which has so often evoked comparisons with Neil Young.

Vanot broke away from the austerity of his eponymous debut, experimenting with two more amply-orchestrated albums (the latter of which, the 1997 éGérie, proved to be his most successful in terms of record sales.) However, the former French teacher has now returned to a more pared-back sound on Bethesda and the budget restrictions imposed on his sixth album appear to have had a supremely cathartic effect.

Vanot appears to have enjoyed himself in the studio this time round, playing with a bunch of musician friends including drummer Ian Templetown and John Greaves (former bassist with English prog-rock group Henry Cow) who mans bass and keyboards here. Like the latest offering by his musical acolyte Jean-Louis Murat, Vanot's latest album sounds amazingly bare, sparse and alive. And the songs on it come closer than ever to Neil Young and the Americana which has always been close to the French singer's heart.

Inspired perhaps by his recent production work for the Tahitian-born 'chanteuse' Mareva Galanter, Vanot has introduced a subtle note of exotica on tracks such as Hawaï and Un pied derrière. But Bethesda is carried from first to last by a series of blistering guitars which reach a climax of bestial distortion on Le Mouton à Trois Têtes. As for the lyrics on Bethesda, Vanot's language remains admirably concise, only spilling over into crudity when he exorcises his past disappointments in love. All eleven tracks on this rare, atmospheric album are highly recommended.