It is a fact that many British compatriots of mine, and in America, even those who one would expect to be a little more discerning given the longer than usual attention span required to appreciate progressive rock, are not particularly keen on foreign language music. This is the reason why English has become almost the universal language of music in a way that other languages, even French, never could. Take a look at most of the Eurovision entries, and they will sing in the main in English. There are some wonderful Italian bands, classic sounds of the “golden age” of progressive rock, and their impact, sadly, was never the same here as the likes of Genesis & Yes, for example, were in Italy.

So, we have here Onze, or 11, by French outfit Lazuli, who present to us again a work entirely in their native language and I hope in this review, as somebody who barely scraped a grade E in his GCE “O” Level French exam 42 years ago, to put across just how good this album is without a lyrical examination, and to emphasise a point I repeatedly make in that very often music can speak volumes to us without necessarily bringing words, or ones we understand.

Before I discuss the album as a whole, it is worth pointing out that Onze is, in fact, the band’s tenth original studio album. The album title refers to the fact that they also released an unplugged compilation of previous works in 2021. There are, though, happily, eleven tracks on the album. Of note is new guitarist, Arnaud Beyney who replaces longstanding contributor, Gédéric Byar who left during the pandemic. He makes a stunning debut.

So, to the album which, as far as I can tell, unlike its immediate predecessor which was dedicated to fans, has no overarching theme or concept. I will, therefore, make one up, and that concept is wonder, because that, dear reader, is the overwhelming emotion felt when listening to this album.

The opener, Sillonner des océans de vinyles (Crisscrossing Oceans of Vinyl) has a gentle chord touch against the warm yet fragile vocal of Dominique Leonetti. The overwhelming impression I take from this track is one of playfulness. It has a fresh soundscape and is fun. The synth noise just short of three minutes in by Romain Thorel is wonderfully expansive and this plays until the opening chords reassert themselves fading accompanied by a nice jazzy percussive touch by Vincent Barnavol. The video above has more than a touch of The Beatles about the crossing of the sea of vinyl.

Triste Carnaval (Sad Carnival) follows. The opening chords are again lovely announcing the arrival of the carnival. It reminds me a bit in spirit of Circus of Heaven, that rather maligned, but personal favourite, from Yes’s Tormato. The synths portray the rides going up and down, whilst Beyney produces some very nice riffs. There is a good intensity to the closing passage before silence and a final chord, the bow at the end of the show.

Qui d'autre que l'autre (Who Else but the Other) follows. It has a far more downbeat opening to it. The keys notes are noticeably darker, as are the vocals. There is a light, but rather doom laden, drum pattern and the chords are deliberately dysfunctional. Beyney produces a heartfelt guitar solo, full of screeching feeling to begin with before morphing into an extended emotional riff, whilst the rhythm section pushes the song along. The denouement harks back to classic rock days of yore, and completes a deeply impressive number.

Égoïne (Selfish) is up next. Which of us has not been at some point in our lives? The opening is, despite the title, extremely unselfish. It is fresh and a slice of Americana and when it expands into the chorus, the noise is wonderful, and I love Dominique’s vocals on this, the changes in emphasis and tone, gentle and urgent in turns. The closing passage is pure rock opera. It would be pointless to try and pigeonhole and compare this unique track. It is simply lovely.

Lagune grise (Grey Lagoon) follows. It is laid back and dreamy, exemplified by the vocal chanting, and the slide guitar again provides us with a touch of Southern America, and when the rock reasserts itself with a wailing guitar riff, there is a touch of the Lynyrd about it.

Parlons du temps (Let’s Talk About Time) is a jazzy number, with some more nice percussive touches and a piano lead beginning proceedings before a more symphonic bent arrives and intersperses itself against it. Underneath all of this, Claude Leonetti on the unique Lazuli patented léode shines. The ghostly guitar solo at the end is ethereal and signifying, to me, a sense of the eternal.

This is followed by the wonderfully named Le pleureur sous la pluie (The Weeper in the Rain) whose opening keys could easily be mistaken for a Rick Davies number in later Supertramp which, in all honesty, is not my favourite period of music. The quality of Lazuli, however, rises above this and what we have here is a very catchy track with strong commercial leanings over a jazz undercard. I take it, by the way, to mean that there is a poor bloke discarded by his lover and having to walk and rage home in the pouring rain, and this sense is there when the song rocks out with a massive guitar riff against the crying vocals. Fantastic stuff.

Hopefully, you do not see many Les mots désuets (Obsolete Words) in my musings on this little website. The plaintive vocals against a delicate acoustic guitar talk to me of a natural follow up to the previous track, with the subject trying to compose words which might entice his lover back, but such words are obsolete set against her disdain. I can imagine this track working very well in a live setting with the duo bringing the audience down after a particularly intense section. It is mournful and quietly effective.

In both our countries, there are a fair number of La bétaillère (Cattle), both the bovine variety and those multitudes of people who blindly follow what or whoever is in vogue at a particular moment in time. The track is grandiose with its orchestration and does not, in any shape or form, envisage a picture of peaceful cattle chewing the cud in a rural French setting, so I take this song, which has a very angry feel to it, as referring to the human cattle following dickheads such as Macron, Johnson, et al. The sense of doom and dystopia increases as we reach the close.

Mille rêves hors de leur cage (A Thousand Dreams out of their Cage) is the penultimate track. It calms matters down considerably after the chaos of what preceded it, with the gorgeous voice and piano back in train. I catch the word mort in the lyrics, and wonder whether this downplayed number is a reflection on mortality? It is most certainly very reflective in its impact upon the listener.

Talking of mortality, the final track is Le Grand Vide (The Great Void), which many, especially those who do not have any religious or spiritual leanings at all, consider to be the fate of all men upon their passing from these mortal shackles. Emptiness. Nothingness. Being a glass half full type of chap, I do not subscribe to this, and indeed the thought is more than a little frightening. Although returning to the sparsity of much else on the album, there is a particular urgency to the music and vocals, as if raging against said void. It isn’t heavy, by any stretch of the imagination, but it is deeply intense and this becomes more and more as each note and word is played before settling into the closing minute of ghostly keys and voice. The key to this wonderful piece of music is the power inherent in its quietness and dignity.

So, there we have it. I really rather hope that French speaking friends or visitors do not instruct me on just how wrong I am in my interpretation of this exceptional album. One of the common threads running through my many years of reviewing music is that magic of bringing a personal understanding and meaning to an artist’s true intent, that of interpretation and emotion in music being a deeply personal thing, something to be cherished even when the true meaning is beyond one, how music can talk to us in so many ways. This is one of the reasons I enjoy instrumental albums so much, that incredible gift of talking to us without whispering a word.

Onze is a lovely album. It is a powerful album. It holds some gorgeous melodies and gives one the space to find its meaning. It therefore comes very highly recommended.