At 24 years old, despite the insolent youth that bathes her dark eyes in a pure and vivid glow, Adèle Castillon has already lived several lives, both fictional and real. This provides effortless substance for the intimate lyrics of a debut album that candidly recounts a first breakup, the torments of emotional dependency, and addiction itself. All of this is delivered with that poetic authenticity and freshness that already made the songs of Vidéoclub irresistible—the synth-pop duo with 80s nostalgia (think Odezenne meets Elli & Jacno) that she formed in Nantes with Matthieu Reynaud at the age of seventeen. […]

While she was still in high school, a first love—dazzling as all first times are—inspired her to form Vidéoclub with her boyfriend at the time. The music video for “Amour plastique,” cobbled together with whatever they had on hand and shared by a Mexican actor from a Netflix series who made it go viral, would garner them tens of millions of streams. A legend was born, capped off by a tour and a final video, “SMS,” which mischievously summarized three years of love while announcing their breakup.

Another person might have lost themselves in the aftermath. But Adèle Castillon is writing the sequel herself, alone—a quiet force despite her admitted fragilities and the bumpy road that lies behind the perfectly aligned title of this first album. Signed to the music label of Iconoclast, the ultra-creative image production company, she found the ideal partner in Surkin, a sharp electronic talent as precocious as she is. Together, they trace a new musical horizon, combining the innocence of French pop with a “homemade” and uncompromising spirit, fueled by impeccable references as varied as Adèle Castillon’s very Gen Z playlist: Taxi Girl, Suicide, Billie Eilish, Madonna, Beach House, Tame Impala, Chromatics, Miley Cyrus, Daft Punk, Lio, Damso, Muddy Monk, Mylène Farmer, or Agar Agar.

The thrilling debut of a young artist who, we bet, will be a major force in the months to come.