Why have I done a special issue of THE MICK to accompany this (which is why this review was a bit later than expected.)? Any new Ataraxia album obviously means something worthy of attention in my mind, but as this release had them worrying if they'd committed creative suicide it was bound to be different. A band well known for aesthetically demanding ethereal serenity as much as invigorating historical music with their Renaissance activities, alongside plenty of wholly modern enigmas to juggle, they must be trying something weird if they're worried. Then again, what else do you call an album which finds them replicating a significant and disastrous performance of disgraced, long dead French cabaret artists who have used a medium to demand this take place, causing the band to relocate and bury themselves in morbid fascinations? It's different, in an Omen meets Moulin Rouge sort of way.

From the outset it is worth pointing out this isn't a million miles removed from what they once touched in "Il Fantasma Dell'opera" but the fictional drama is more intense and convincing. It's quite bizarre at times to realise that there are moments here quite at odds with anything they've done before, which is a seriously radical adventure for a band in their 21st year. It's also deeply impressive when you appreciate how easily they have adopted other elements and attached them to the general Ataraxia exoskeleton.

It's an hour of weird diversion, and I'm glad 'Bienvenue A L'Enter' starts on the pretty side of spooky before pitching into crowd noise, screams, howling, drums and cavorting, fairground organ or it'd be a touch too strident and off-putting, because you want the album to be something you'd go all the way through later on instead of just picking certain songs.

'Ou Vont Les Chiens?' puts your mind at ease because you sink into skilfully escalating madness, the accordion melody pleasantly evocative, the sinuous grip of the subtle rhythm deceptive. This drowsy French moping gives way to lunatic laughing that had its own precocious melodic insistence and the beautiful piano shimmer of 'N'Importe Ou!' shows how seductive this new music is for them. Once again we have a deep, magical majesty in the overall musical tone, then a capering chorus of crazed jollity emerges out of a burst of worrying vitality, followed by some grand restraint, with creepy voices at the end.

A very sweet, dolorous melody in 'Mon Cher Toutou' is offset by the odd, pert bass flourish, or a barking dog, darting female vocals; the higher sounds dizzy and spinning; the lower mood urgent, strangled and teasing. In total contrast the charming acoustic guitar of 'Le Marchand Le Nuages' is like long forgotten children's' TV music, or Three Blind Mice, the pipes, strings and percussion gradually hauling extra baggage onto its slender frame, providing a pastoral hue. Perplexing male vocals sidle in, but trying to follow the lyrics and studying (fool that I am!) what is involved in the story I can't quite fathom why this is so mild.

'Le Saltimbanque Decrepit' staggers back to wheezy circus music, turned into a soft-boiled ballad, clomping and bomping over the rattling drums and accordion with burly singing a la Guesch Patti, and ending again with some dramatic dialogue. 'La Reine Des Hommes Aux Yeux Verts' is sedate where pretty guitar and pipes roll beneath drifting vocals. Piquant strings create a romantic sense of neo-classical bliss with more French male spoken word encroaching.

'Tango Des-Astres' has mental characters stirred in together, in a lolloping tune, which seems brittle and bordering on irritating, when a great keyboard-led drama evolves, eventually rounding off with more serious strings and guitar, all light and delicious until some glass shatters. The vocal stretch out during 'Longtemps Pierrette D'Orient', reminding me of….Ataraxia! As beautiful as any of their floatiest songs this is one of the greater disarming creations, couched in loveable French languor. Despite the sounds of storms 'Oh Rhadamante' also brings back familiar sounds, with delicate conspiratorial vocals tumbling over intricate guitar, but this song becomes both choked and blaring towards its close, a singalong cacophony.

'Petite Chanson Lycanthrope' also offers a delectable Parisian air and as secretive vocal exchanges ooze over blissful guitar it winds down to silence, strangely and leaves us with the closing 'A Votre Guise!' A stern piano and rhythm with bitter, unyielding vocals, there is careening madness here with a quickening charge through to insane laughter and an exploding firework finale for a wild, weird close.

It falls to the listener to stick together various parts of a story that suits them best, some of which you will find laid out in LE MICK 32, but one thing is obvious, they're far from dead yet. The whole thing works so well, in a wickedly dark, bizarre world of their own, it's actually making you want more details than they're going to be able to provide! So, what's it actually about? I don't strictly know, nor did I ever expect to. Ataraxia like to stay one step ahead, beckoning illusions on our horizon, and they're still ahead.