Every boy needs an indie- rock crush. Lord knows I've had my share: Tori Amos, Tanya Donelly, Liz Phair, Sarah Shannon, Chan Marshall, Fontaine Toups, Rebecca Gates... hey, what can I say, I'm a sucker for a pretty voice. So naturally, when a winsome Audrey Hepburn- type named April March comes along who not only sings in the kind of girly voice that makes Japanese businessmen weak in the knees, but does it in French... well, let's just say I've had worse days and leave it at that.

Of course, you can imagine my disappointment to discover that the whole April March persona is no less prefab than, say, the Spice Girls. Really now, though, should I even expect authenticity out of someone named April March? Besides, who would buy a neo- French kitsch- pop album by plain old "Elinor Blake," a New Yorker transplanted to California, ex- Spumco animator, and former member of an impressive number of feckless garage bands? Do I have a right to be disenchanted with March's negligible role in the actual making of Chrominance Decoder (about half the lyrics and all of the songwriting is courtesy of Svengali-ish producer Bertrand Burgalat)? And with French musicians like Air, Daft Punk and Dimitri From Paris getting favorable press in Rolling Stone and Spin, and with the everpresent lounge revival helping dig up old dead folks like Serge Gainsbourg and Edith Piaf, should I even bother questioning the fortuitous timing of Chrominance Decoder's release?

Sigh and double sigh. While my stodgy inner punk is screaming "fraud" at the top of his tiny lungs, my inner pop loser is grooving to "Sugar"'s jazz- shuffle percussion and eerie swirling strings, "Mignonette"'s jetsetting go-go pop, and the coy warmth of "Garcon Glacon." As for the whole singing- in- French thing, Miss March's French accent is decent enough to improve at least a few songs (the heartbreakingly melancholy "Martine," for instance), but there are English- language versions of "Mignonette" and "Garcon Glacon" that I enjoy a bit more ("No Parachute" and "Nothing New," respectively). Sometimes it's nice to understand the lyrics, y'know?

But regardless of how indie- rock you feel, Chrominance Decoder feels like a heady, whirlwind love affair-- the kind of album you can file next to your Combustible Edison CDs without feeling too guilty. Just call Miss March "French Spice," and give my regards to Monseiur Burgalat.

-Nick Mirov