More Mireille and, again, it's standard pop fare from the late 60s. I really like this album though as it has the right amount of sentimentality tinged with that bleakness only the French can do. Not twee, not suger-coated, just nice music. I would listen to this while sat alone of an evening, reading Jean-Paul Satre, and smoking (suggestively) one of those French cigarettes that have the nicotine content of a fuel-tanker.
