New York’s John Beckmann isn’t one to play it safe, and on French Summer, his latest as The Mortal Prophets, he doesn’t just bend genre—he melts it. Spanning eighteen tracks, this LP is less an album and more a lucid dream built from analog whispers, vintage European cinema, and slow-burning electronica.
The presence of Anais de Nerval is key to the album’s allure. Her voice drifts in and out like memory—sensual, ghostlike, and just out of reach. It’s less about lyrics and more about atmosphere. Every phrase she utters feels like it’s been lifted from a Godard film and filtered through cigarette smoke and static. She doesn’t anchor these tracks—she haunts them.
Beckmann, meanwhile, shows a rare kind of restraint. Known for his boundary-pushing sound collages, he’s pared things back here. Gone is the chaotic density of some of his earlier work. In its place: minimal yet lush arrangements, delicate strings, and synths that shimmer like sunlight on a wine glass. There’s a tactile quality to it all—beats that thump like a distant nightclub, textures that wrap around you like silk sheets in a coastal hotel room.
There’s a cinematic flow to French Summer, and it’s easy to imagine it as a film in itself. One without a plot, but heavy on mood—think long drives through Provence, empty streets at dawn, and lovers speaking in hushed tones. There are nods to Gainsbourg, whispers of disco noir, and even ambient soundscapes that feel ripped from some alternate universe. But despite the references, French Summer never dips into imitation. It’s evocative rather than referential.
Still, this is not a record for passive listening. It doesn’t beg for your attention—it seduces it. The pacing is deliberate, the textures subtle, and the emotional payoff requires patience. But for those willing to sit still and let it wash over them, there’s something genuinely transportive here.
French Summer feels like it was made for twilight hours and private moments. It’s luxurious but not loud, nostalgic but not kitsch, romantic but never obvious. In an era of instant gratification, The Mortal Prophets ask you to slow down, and for that alone, Beckmann and de Nerval deserve your time.
If you’re after something intimate, immersive, and just a little strange—French Summer might be your next obsession.
