YELLE
Yelle’s music seems to belong in the city. The dirty synth basslines and clattering electronic rhythms of songs like Karaté or Ba$$in are tailor-made for the neon-soaked streets of LA or Tokyo. And then there are Julie Budet’s vocals: Madonna meets Francois Hardy in some sleazy, backstreet Parisian bar. Even their videos seem to exude a disturbing, futuristic glamour. Dystopian vignettes with an impish sense of humour and style.
It’s surprising, then, to find the Yelle studio perched atop a lonely clifftop on the Brittany coast. The views are breathtaking, with the vast sea and sky visible from every window.
“This place is very peaceful,” admits Jean-Francois Perrier, the technical half of Yelle. “Earlier this morning, I was walking with my friend and we could hear nothing. Some people need the noise of the city to help them create music, but we prefer silence. I don’t really listen to much music at all, not even when I’m driving. It’s better that I have some space in my head… space for the ideas to happen.”
There’s a common misconception that France’s relationship with dance music begins in 1995 with the release of the Daft Punk single Da Funk. Then, along came Air, St Germain et al, and suddenly everyone was talking about the ‘French touch’.
In truth, the story starts way before Bangalter and de Homem-Christo. As well as the twisted funk-pop of Les Rita Mitsouko and René Roussel in the 80s, French acts had a huge impact on 70s
