Libertine
A Mylène Farmer world, and the lineage around it. Two dozen songs of French dark-romance — the plea, the provocation, the melancholy loved for its own sake — anchored by fourteen Mylène records and the tradition she came from and the one she spawned. It opens, with a wink, on a different Farmer entirely.
Cendres de Lune
The genealogy is the point. Behind Farmer stand Brel’s devastation, Ferré singing Baudelaire, Gainsbourg’s scandal; beside her, Kate Bush’s deal with God and Depeche Mode’s unnecessary words; ahead of her, Alizée (for whom she wrote) and Christine and the Queens (who inherited the throne). Everything dark and French and sung by someone who means it.
Dropped in at the center, the label’s own: Sylvaine Éternelle’s “La Politesse des Chaînes” — dark synthwave that wears its chains politely, philosophy set to a cold beat. It is the closest thing the roster has to a Farmer record, which is the whole reason it’s here.
It fades out on three instrumentals — Farmer without words, which turns out to be Farmer at her most Farmer. Play it in the dark, in French.
Pairs well with black lace, a red rose you didn’t buy yourself, and a subtitle track you refuse to turn on.
