Forget your ideas about rock'n'roll, about the virtues of the avant-garde: Eddy Crampes understood before anyone else that music that doesn't bind you together, two bruised hearts awakened by a chorus, is negligible music. Forget your punk years, your apprenticeship in jazz, everything that matters flickers in your deepest memories, distantly informed by the family car radio. The ghostly, hypnagogic variety that this damn coyote's son makes sizzle directly into your heads will leave you stunned, hilarious and bewildered, happy to still be the same grave on your feet, proud heroes of your derisory and magnificent lives. Eddy Crampes is THE great French singer, and that's all there is to it.