A few weeks ago, I nonchalantly popped French songster Etienne Charry's American debut, 36 Erreurs, into my stereo. Then I realized I was listening to it from a biased point of view-- an American point of view. Here in America, we have great indie records coming out on an almost weekly basis. We Americans are spoiled when it comes to indie music. Thus, I decided the only way I could truly give 36 Erreurs a fair shake was to give up my bias and look at it from a French person's point of view.

Unfortunately, I have neither the cash nor the time to actually fly to France. I thought about hitching a ride on a cargo ship, but I tend to get seasick. I was left with only one option: I had to do everything within my power to become a French stereotype. Only then could I give 36 Erreurs the fair chance it deserved.

So I set about on my quest to create my own private France. I didn't bathe for a week. I peed on the sidewalk. I ate parts of a duck I didn't even know existed. I made myself laugh at old Jerry Lewis movies. I wore a beret and spat at tourists. I hung around fancy art museums all day. I drank expensive wine. I made all my friends call me "Mathieu." Finally, when I felt like I'd fully immersed myself in the finer points of French culture, I popped 36 Erreurs back into my stereo, figuring that if Mathieu LeMay didn't like it, nobody would.

At first, the new me really dug 36 Erreurs. "Mon dieu!" I said. "Je l'aime!" I was completely hooked by the kitschy synth melodies, carousel noises, and Charry's adorable vocals. "Sergent Crado" reminded me of the Cirque du Soleil. The car crash noises on "Le Gens Qui Les Voitures Écrasent" (translation: "The Men Whom the Cars Crush") made me laugh. I imagined that the man getting hit by the car was a British guy with a venereal disease. The songs were short and cute, like French poodles. I also loved that Charry had invited all of his friends, including French film star Valérie Lemercier, to join him on his record.

I wasn't bothered by the fact that a lot of Charry's 36 Erreurs sounded practically identical to each other. I wasn't bothered by the fact that a lot of them seemed like 30-second throwaways. I wasn't even bothered by the fact that about half of the tracks struggled desperately to find a decent melody. The songs were just so cute! I couldn't resist their charms! I was enthralled like an Englishman at a whorehouse. A whorehouse filled with ugly English women. Ho ho ho.

I was so enamored with 36 Erreurs that I decided to check out Kindercore Records' website to see if I could order any more records from the fantastic Monsieur Charry. To my dismay, I found that 36 Erreurs is his only release thus far. But while his website didn't offer any more records to buy, it did feature an adorable letter from Charry himself. In this letter, Etienne explains that he titled his album 36 Erreurs because the "experimental pop music... doesn't conform to today's market."

Suddenly, the gruff American in me piped up. "How can you buy that bullshit, Matt? How is this 'experimental?' It's just synth-pop. Momus does it better. The Magnetic Fields do it better!" Mathieu was quite taken aback by my outrage. "What is a Momus?" my upstart French doppelganger began. "What are Magnetic Fields? I am just a Frenchman! I still think that '80s techno and MC Solaar are cutting-edge. Forgive me if I have not heard of your crazy American bands."

"Look at yourself, Mathieu! You're a stereotype! And a weak one, at that! Shame on you."

"Shame?! But I have no shame! I am basing my entire French existence on the works of Etienne Charry! Just listen to this album! It is so kitschy and stereotypically Fraunch! Ho ho ho! J'aime le fromage! I am a womanizer! Ho ho ho!"

"That's it, Mathieu. This sucks. That pâté made me barf and I smell like cologne and shit. Don't make me kick your ass."

"I surrender!"

-Matt LeMay