Although it takes seconds to discern that Juniore are French, a core inspiration appears to be the echoing surf-pop instrumentals of Californian studio band The Marketts, whose 1963 single "Out of Limits" became their most well-known track. Add in – exemplified by Trois, Deux, Un’s fifth and sixth tracks “Amour fou” and “Grand voyageur” – the languid atmosphere of the early Françoise Hardy and the result is a form of Gallic retro-futurist garage-pop.

Justice are a couple of super-suave rock star analogues. Leathers and aviators, yes, but with a very Parisian insouciance. Their music is the same. It has a rocker-friendly je-ne-sais-quoi, but air-brushed with the glitzy sci-fi futurism one might expect from a couple of guys whose origins lie in design.

It must be kind of unreal living in the Stereolab universe.

A band of geeky introverts, beloved of the type of hairclip-and-satchel indie ultras a friend of mine used to call “the Scooby Gang” for their tendency to resemble Shaggy and Velma, over the past three decades they also became cool enough in fashion and celebrity circles to get multiple mentions in Bret Easton Ellis’s Glamorama, and etched into the very fabric of hip hop via fans like The Neptunes, J Dilla, Timbaland and Tyler, The Creator. 

Marilou lies on the ground. She’s been bludgeoned to death by a fire extinguisher. Its foam covers her body. Her murderer is a forty-something man who has become obsessed with her. She shampoos hair in a barbers, where he first comes across her. Their affair turns sour after he finds her in bed with two other men. After the murder, her killer ends up in a mental hospital.

Tony Kushner’s early 1990s play Angels in America is an epochal, mystical, political, state-of-the-nation address, revolving around the AIDs epidemic. By no means straightforward, its narrative runs the gamut from New York’s gay scene to God’s own sexual proclivities, via the ghost of executed Cold War spy Ethel Rosenberg, the fall of the Soviet Bloc and much else.

Frànçois Marry’s sixth album as Frànçois & The Atlas Mountains evokes warm days spent lounging in fields of clover reflecting on friendship, places visited and journeys which could be undertaken. Banane Bleue’s 10 tracks are unhurried and delivered as if Marry had just woken up. Relatively, the chugging “Holly Go Lightly” is uptempo – but it’s still reserved.

Theartsdesk is a labour of love. Bloody-mindedly run as a co-operative of journalists from the beginning, our obsession with maintaining a daily-updated platform for good culture writing has caused a good few grey and lost hairs over the years. But it has also been rewarding – and looking back over the 10 years of Disc of the Day reviews has been a good chance to remind ourselves of that. 

Ten years ago yesterday, on Monday 14^th February 2011, one of theartsdesk’s writers, Joe Muggs, reviewed an album called Paranormale Aktivitat, by an outfit called Zwischenwelt. It was the first ever Disc of the Day, a new slot inserted into theartsdesk’s front page design, where it still resides today.

When you’re off to Islington’s beautiful Assembly Hall for an evening of slinky French bossa nova, it’s something of a surprise to find the Gallic groovers preceded by a droll Brummie singer who brings to mind a cross between Billy Bragg and Richard Hawley. But it turns out that Matthew Edwards, who boldly steps out on stage armed only with an acoustic guitar and a dry wit, is the perfect way to begin tonight’s evening.

Although its opening minute suggests one of Can’s Ethnological Forgery Series tracks, Jungle? Quelle Jungle? quickly sets its stall with gentle whacka-whacka guitar, a Cerrone-type or South African-styled female chorale, fusion-jazz woodwind, shimmering electric piano, Latin percussion, squelchy bass and a touch of Space’s space disco. There is a lot going on.

Essentially, the album – its title a reference to Supertramp’s Crisis What Crisis – marries yacht rock and the smooth, Côte d'Azur side of disco. Fire Island, this is not. Instead, this could have packed the light-up dance-floor of Paris’ Chalet du Lac in 1976 or 1977.

Getting a handle on Jungle? Quelle Jungle? isn’t difficult but what perplexes is why such an album been fabricated. It sounds expensive and glossy, and is terrifically clever but lacks joy. Surely those behind it would have the nous to create something which hid its bricolage nature more successfully? Or to avoid edging into parody? And imbue it with a sense of fun? Apparently not.

Jungle? Quelle Jungle? has not come from nowhere. Ten years ago a French trio called Jordan released their only album, Oh No! We are Dominos. Produced by Jay Pellici, whose credits also include Avi Buffalo, Deerhoof and Sleater-Kinney, it employed Pixies-like stop-start songs, yelping vocals, odd bits of Afro guitar and parping keyboards. The lyrics were in English and it may as well have been by an American art-rock band. After that, the band faded from view but one-third of the line-up resurfaced in 2011 as the prime mover of electro-disco outfit Bon Voyage. Adrien Durand had made his next move.

Fast forward to 2017 when Durand claimed the producer credit for Amadou & Mariam’s last album, La Confusion. Now, a full album arrives under the imprimatur Bon Voyage Organization. Through-and-through, it is Durand’s project. Jungle? Quelle Jungle? is also an efficient, if deliberate and soulless, construct.

• More album reviews on theartsdesk

Overleaf: watch the video for “Goma” from Bon Voyage Organization’s Jungle? Quelle Jungle?