Benjamin Biolay finds inspiration in unlikely places on his moody seventh album—somewhere between Paris and Argentina, to be precise. A cross between Leonard Cohen and Arthur H, the Frenchman's intimate rasp is in fine form, recounting sleepless adventures on the James Bond-esque title track. He explores love and abandon on the slinky "La débandade,” which showcases the croonerly corners of his range. And a Latin breeze drifts through the groovy "Palermo Soho," with Biolay dropping languorous come-ons in Spanish. Even when lamenting his broken heart, as on the nostalgic "Pas sommeil," he never breaks a sweat.