Originally best-known as an Italian-born model who had affairs with Mick Jagger and Eric Clapton, Bruni has matured into a remarkably talented and self-possessed singer-composer-guitarist. Her debut album, sung mostly in French, could best be described as neo-chanson. Bruni's whispery, wobbly, husky voice, wryly deadpan delivery and introspective lyrics recall Francoise Hardy, Barbara, Jane Birkin and Nico. But unlike her forebears, who so often posed as waif-like child-women and doormat-like victims of passion, Bruni remains firmly on top. Her lyrics can and do celebrate true love but she also praises the delights of female sexual empowerment in no uncertain terms, as on J'en Connais ("I've Known A Few"). Musically, the tunes range from folk Français to echoes of le jazz hot to bluesy torch numbers. The spare, mostly acoustic instrumentation is unfussy and atmospheric, while the I-couldn't-care-less ambience is occasionally punctuated by chimes, insouciant whistling or an impudent, sly giggle. --Christina Roden
"Come, let me sing into your ear," purrs Carla Bruni to open her second album, her French/Italian heritage betrayed in a pan-European accent that's as breathy and relaxing as a summer afternoon nap on the Riviera. Though the prospect of a former supermodel's career exploits is sometimes prettier than others (depends if you prefer the Project Runway pronouncements of Heidi Klum or the talk show/tabloid antics of Tyra Banks), Carla Bruni approaches music armed with something of a legitimate pedigree, both her parents having been musicians in their own right. Calling the album No Promises may reflect some intentional lowering of expectations for Bruni's experiment here, setting 11 reverently-chosen lyric poems by the likes of Emily Dickenson, W.B. Yeats, and Dorothy Parker to her own mellow, wispy music and pleasant voice. Where artists like Feist or Keren Ann use spare instrumentation and airy vocals to achieve delicacy and nuance, the compositions on No Promises seem to run together without much to distinguish one from another, and the result is neither offensive nor particularly inspirational. Maybe next time Carla Bruni will inject a little more fire into her belly and add some sparkle to her hushed soundscape. --Ben Heege
