As a nation, we are often criticised for exhibiting an apparent resistance to acquiring a second language. This attitude is not, in most cases, due to any nationalistic conceit – more so we are just apathetic to the idea, safe in the knowledge that everybody else speaks English anyway. Failing that, a patronising point alongside elongated pronunciation should do it.

With this in mind, you wouldn’t be alone in approaching the bilingual Excerpts with a certain reticence. Music, however, has a way of eroding such language barriers and a certain beauty can indeed be gleamed from the unknown. That is not to say that this album from Montreal songwriter and composer Olivier Alary does not require a good degree of patience. Alary is joined by long-term collaborator Darcy Conroy and together they toy with the somewhat well-examined notion of nostalgia. Alary draws upon the concept of fictional nostalgia – a yearning for times and places that have never actually been experienced, or the feeling that one should be existing in a bygone era rather than that of today.

Such dreamy sentiment emanates throughout the record as lulling orchestration is met with the velvety voices of both Alary and Darcy, who hop between French and English at will. A pensive opening eases you in before ‘Things I Forget’ takes hold. The stabbing pizzicato playing creates a brooding atmosphere before it’s alleviated by a cacophony of string instrumental. It’s a track which is difficult to truly grasp given the level of experimentation, but it marks a bold and ambitious introduction.

Unfortunately the lack of immediacy is a constant throughout. Alary succeeds in extracting an air of accessibility from such lush classical arrangements but often at the expense of some remarkability. That is not to say Excerpts doesn’t have its moments. ‘Mirages’ is a ballad of real poignancy with the dual vocals swaying together delightfully to make the most of a minimalistic backdrop. The title track and ‘Imprints’ lower the heart rate somewhat and incite contemplation – no bad thing – before ‘Envies D’avalanches’ epitomises the undeniable elegance which Excerpts possesses in abundance. Some credit must also go to Johannes Malfatti whose precise composition brings out an almost filmic quality to the record.

Whilst Excerpts may not be suitable for everyday use, it is perfect for those times when you wish to bathe in reflection; completely oblivious as to what is happening in real time. However, be aware of the nagging sense of regret that may rear its remorseful head from among the expansive soundscapes.