Once upon a time there was a faux-French band from New York called Les Sans Culottes. They started out doing covers of French artists with French accents and eventually went from being a cover band to an actual band, writing their own songs and releasing four albums. At a certain point, the band ran into some severe personal issues with one another and after lawsuits and other bad words, most of the band split off to basically form Nous Non Plus (and play basically the same kind of music). The result is a band playing sugar-coated songs that range from electro-pop to garage rock and are sung by attractive males and females.

Oh yeah, and these guys and gals have names like Celine Dijon and Jean-Luc Retard, so it's kind of hard to tell whether they're completely tongue-in-cheek or just taking the piss. Regardless, it's probably best that the ten songs on the album clock in at under forty minutes, and even that seems like a bit much at times unless you're down for unrelentingly buoyant (and at times downright silly) pop music. "L'Amant" kicks off the disc with cooed female vocals and some flamenco-sounding guitar, building into a slightly more raucous number by the end before "Lawnmower Boy" puts a little more crunch into things with driving guitars and back and forth male/female vocals and plenty of "la la la's."

The middle of the disc gets a bit more electronic with the gurgling synths of "One Night In Paris" and it's on this track that one realizes that it's probably best that the group sticks to French with their vocals. As the only english-languange track on the album, the completely vapid lyrics follow the travails of Paris Hilton and her (former) French boyfriend of the same name. It's downright painful, and fortunately they get back to the sillyness with "Tant Pis Pour Toi." At any rate, even with some decent variety musically, Nous Non Plus is one of those albums that is pretty much out of mind as soon as it stops spinning. I'm sure the group would be a bit more fun at a live venue with a beer in my hand (and a couple in my stomach), but unless you're a fan of the heavily candy-coated faux franco pop, you might want to steer clear.