We all have musical vibes we chase. And not just one vibe (let’s agree here and now to call this ineffable thing a “vibe” cool okay great); I’m looking for something completely different when I’m, say, psyching myself up versus chilling myself out. I’ve known about the French electronic duo Air for years, but I figured they were outside my realm of interest and kept to my side of the street for the most part, dabbling parasitically when exposed via other avenues, like their contribution to Sofia Coppola’s adaptation of The Virgin Suicides. But there was an itch just under the skin of my skull: recent Dolby Atmos excursions and the realization that Moon Safari, the group’s debut, was reissued in 2024 forced my hand (like I actually resisted), and I grabbed a copy.
A few weeks later it popped up as the pick in my Album Discussion group. At the time I probably enjoyed it the most, pointing out the opener “La Femme d’argent” with its downtempo, trip-hop vibe, but feeling most of the tracks with the exception of the singles: both “Kelly Watch the Stars” and the admittedly catchy “Sexy Boy” left me nonplussed.
My TL;DR at the time? Enjoyable, easy background social music, but that was probably all I needed from the group. I thought that was it, especially since Erik was not a fan and Baxter was a slightly cooler version of my own take.
And then something happened. I kept coming back to it, largely because of how much I loved “La Femme d’argent” — I could devour an entire album on just that…vibe. But the second half of Moon Safari kept luring me back, starting with “Talisman” before left-turning into “Remember” with its vocoder (thanks for the music lesson, Erik!) and percussive organ. Following another warm vocal collaboration with Beth Hirsch, the final trio of songs sealed it — from “Ce Matin Là,” with its Burt Bacharach-by-way-of-George-Martin production, to the gorgeous closer “Le voyage de Pénélope.”
Listening again this morning, sitting at the beach with a cup of coffee, I started thinking about vibes, what pulls us in. With Moon Safari, I think there’s something in the tempo, and the way Nicolas Godin and Jean-Benoît Dunckel use space and the soundstage to envelop you in their layers of sound, rather than assault you with a brick of music you have to break apart yourself to find that thread. The keyboards and synths here feel warm, liquid, and inviting. I can sit, float in my head, and let the tendrils of the music wrap around me, finding their own connections.
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