French house isn’t merely a genre of music; it’s a state of mind—a subtle sensation, an unmistakable essence, akin to saudade or saffron. You recognize it instinctively when it graces your ears. Its characteristic chords emanate hues like a flush creeping beneath the skin; its low-pass filters embrace drum loops like silk slipping off a collarbone. Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, the visionary duo of Daft Punk, birthed this sound with seminal tracks like “Da Funk” and “Burnin’,” imprinting their mark on labels like Roulé and Crydamore. However, it was their protégé Alan Braxe—whose debut single, “Vertigo,” marked Roulé’s third release—who truly epitomized the finesse of French house: that intoxicating blend of club motifs with velvety harmonies and rich, unapologetic cheese. The essence of the French touch is intricately woven into the creamy swirls and contours of Braxe’s musical creations.
Alan Braxe and DJ Falcon
The Return of French House Pioneers Alan Braxe and DJ Falcon
Originally unveiled in 2005, The Upper Cuts assembles the bulk of Braxe’s early solo works and collaborations, including the iconic “Music Sounds Better With You”—a filter-house gem crafted with Bangalter and Benjamin Diamond as part of the ephemeral trio Stardust—and his partnerships with bassist and producer Fred Falke. This fresh reissue, following Braxe’s recent triumphant reunion with his cousin DJ Falcon, introduces a few tweaks—a stray hip-hop production makes way for a 2002 remix for Britney Spears—and incorporates two tracks from Braxe’s 2013 EP Moments in Time, along with two brand-new compositions, including a luscious nu-disco collaboration with Annie. French house isn’t currently at the forefront of musical trends nor is it antiquated enough to warrant a revival, which might raise questions about the timing. However, the genre’s influence permeates decades of popular music, from the era now dubbed “indie sleaze” through yacht rock and chillwave to the contemporary disco-pop resurgence; even the Weeknd has embraced its allure. The Upper Cuts serves as a testament that, three decades after Daft Punk heralded a new era of French dance, the retro-futurist sound has attained a semblance of timelessness.
The primary lesson imbibed by Daft Punk from the pioneers of the house canon was the essence of simplicity—that achieving immortality in dance music requires nothing more than a snappy snare and an acid line capable of melting steel. Braxe absorbed this ethos. Deconstructed into their elemental components, his tracks convey a plethora of emotions with just a few starkly delineated elements. Synths zap, drums crackle. The atmosphere oscillates between electrifying tension and mischievous nonchalance. Angular arpeggios mimic urgent alerts from the early days of cable TV; Falke’s basslines are sinuous and slick, delivering virtuosic funk with a wink and a nod. The profound minimalism of Braxe’s production is evident from the outset of The Upper Cuts, exemplified by 2000’s “Most Wanted.” The track opens with a 16-bar loop of kick drum, laser chirp, and a faint conga undertone, distilling the entire disco pantheon into a three-syllable koan. When the central synth riff finally unfolds, it is cloaked in a band-pass filter, muting both high and low frequencies, eliciting a delightful surge of dopamine with each resounding crescendo. That’s all there is to it. That’s the essence of the entire track.
Unlike Daft Punk, Braxe’s influences did not stem primarily from Chicago house. Instead, he drew inspiration from soft rock luminaries like Chicago the band. The ethereal soft rock of their ilk is integral to Braxe’s nostalgic tapestry. “In Love With You” (credited to the Paradise, Braxe’s collaboration with vocalist Romuald Louverjon) is a starry-eyed homage to 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love,” elevated by airy choral pads, glistening electric piano, and unabashed passion, while “You’ll Stay in My Heart” channels the stylistic essence of middle-school slow dances. The 1970s AOR aesthetic is a significant touchstone: Braxe’s beats are solid, marked by prominent backbeat snares, thunderous toms, and cowbell accents that verge on the verge of satire. “Arena” drenches a drum solo in cavernous reverb, audience chants, and simulated applause—a witty imitation of grandiose stadium rock that is both subtly humorous and slightly eerie, akin to a concert in the metaverse.
“Arena” and the similarly stripped-back “Intro,” predominantly driven by percussion, stand out for their monochromatic palettes; however, Braxe’s hallmark is his sumptuous, sensuous use of harmony. His chords are lavish yet economical vehicles for emotional expression; he delights in unexpected modulations that catch listeners off guard, infusing each composition with a cascade of pleasure with every unexpected resolution. Just like his playful manipulation of the filter, Braxe’s counterintuitive chord progressions—such as the exuberant twists and turns of “Rubicon,” the album’s vibrant highlight co-written with Falke—deliver a concentrated burst of euphoria with each surprising resolution.
Yet, even when Braxe nods to rock or pop, his compositions remain firmly rooted in the dance music continuum. If lyrics are present, they serve as concise hooks. There are no verses or choruses or bridges; each track’s arrangement revolves around a single set of changes looping endlessly. Even the Chaka Khan-sampled “Music Sounds Better With You,” which dominated the UK pop charts for two weeks in 1998, exhibits minimal variation in its endlessly repeated chords. The fundamental unit of measurement in these compositions is the loop. The loop is sacred, fundamental—distilled to its essence and tweaked just enough to sustain its vitality. Braxe’s opening and closing filters imbue these rigidly repeating sequences with a semblance of motion, much like flickering flames may have animated static cave paintings. It’s no wonder that the joy he evokes feels so primal.