| Funk, Soul |
Malted Milk, Taking a Time Out, and Raising the Bar for European Soul
In an era defined by exhaustion, political, cultural, emotional, the idea of calling a “time out” feels less like a luxury than a necessity. It is no coincidence, then, that Time Out is the title of the eighth album by Malted Milk, one of Europe’s most quietly accomplished bands. It is also rare for me to write about French blues, or its neighboring genres, for a simple reason: most French blues bands, despite good intentions, remain far removed from the level Malted Milk has maintained for more than twenty years. Longevity alone would be notable; consistency at this level is something else entirely.
Since the late 1990s, Malted Milk has been relentlessly touring Europe, building an audience album after album, rarely missing its mark. This is not the result of hype or nostalgia, but of discipline, musical culture, and an unusually high standard of self-expectation.
The group was formed in Nantes in 1996, when guitarist and singer Arnaud Fradin teamed up with harmonica player Emmanuel Frangeul around a shared passion for the raw, rural blues of Lightnin’ Hopkins, Skip James, and Robert Johnson. Their choice of name was itself a manifesto: “Malted Milk,” borrowed from a Robert Johnson song, signaling from the outset both reverence and lineage. Originally conceived as an acoustic duo, the project quickly expanded with the arrival of a rhythm section, bass, keyboards, and drums, allowing the band to explore more urban, electrified blues forms without ever losing sight of its roots.
Their first album, Peaches, Ice Cream & Wine, released in 1999, followed by Easy Baby in 2005, established their reputation on record and, just as importantly, on stage. These albums were defended at major European blues festivals and during a four-month tour in 2002 through Memphis and New Orleans. That journey felt less like a career move than a pilgrimage—to the birthplace of the blues and, more broadly, to the deep foundations of Black American music.
I hosted Malted Milk live on air many years ago; a video of that performance still circulates online. What remains vivid is not just the technical precision, but the immediate reaction of the audience, silence at first, then total immersion, then release. Fradin’s guitar tone was warm and unforced, the horns locked in with surgical precision, and the band moved as a single body. Malted Milk are musicians of culture, in the deepest sense of the word, with an uncompromising level of artistic rigor. They know how to build a show, how to pace it, how to hold a crowd without resorting to theatrics. From the first notes, the audience was theirs.
If there is a common thread between Time Out and earlier albums, it lies in inspiration rather than execution. Everything else reflects a band that has pushed its standards even higher. Attempting to classify Malted Milk within a single genre ultimately misses the point. This is a group in constant renewal, one that pays tribute to African American musical traditions while reworking rhythmic frameworks, horn arrangements, and grooves with striking fluency. One might hear echoes of classic soul revues, modern funk collectives, or jazz-informed rhythm sections, but never imitation.
Although Malted Milk is not an American band, it has clearly internalized key elements of U.S. musical culture, while asserting an identity that is unmistakably its own. This has become even clearer to me since leaving France. In the United States, a band like Malted Milk could seamlessly appear on the bill of a soul, funk, or jazz festival without raising eyebrows, quite the opposite. Their sound would feel legitimate, grounded, and refreshingly original. For American listeners unfamiliar with the group, one might think of the discipline of a classic soul band combined with the curiosity of contemporary groove-oriented projects, music that respects tradition without being frozen by it.
Time Out takes its title seriously. It suggests a pause, a suspension of momentum, an invitation to step back and imagine a calmer, more balanced future. Musically, the album moves with remarkable ease: from the hypnotic Afrobeat pulse of the title track to the decadent boogaloo of “I Feel Numb,” from the intimate ballad “What a Night” to the supple funk of “It’s Alright.” Throughout, the band displays an impressive mastery of arrangement and texture.
Like all truly great albums, Time Out seems to end too quickly. It invites repeated listening and has already logged multiple spins on my CD player. The presence of Ben l’Oncle Soul, another Francophone artist who shares similar musical passions, albeit through a different stylistic lens, adds yet another layer of dialogue and depth.
Malted Milk stands today as one of the finest bands in Europe, and Time Out does nothing to challenge that assessment. Listening to them evokes the pleasure once delivered by Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, or Ray Charles, but filtered through a modern sensibility and a clearly defined identity. This is not revivalism; it is continuity. If Time Out feels like anything, it is less a culmination than a pivot, a confident pause before the next chapter. One thing is certain: like all Malted Milk albums, it is dangerously addictive.
Thierry De Clemensat
Member at Jazz Journalists Association
USA correspondent for Paris-Move and ABS magazine
Editor in chief – Bayou Blue Radio, Bayou Blue News
PARIS-MOVE, January 8th 2026
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To buy this album (February 27, 2026)
On the road !
- 12 février 2026 – Montpellier – Rockstore
- 11 mars 2026 – Angers – Le Chabada
- 12 mars 2026 – Rennes – L’Étage (Le Liberté)
- 19 mars 2026 – Lempdes – La 2Deuche
- 20 mars 2026 – Besançon – La Rodia
- 26 mars 2026 – Paris – La Cigale
- 27 mars 2026 – Lille (Wasquehal) – The Black Lab
Musicians :
Arnaud Fradin (guitar/vocals)
Igor Pichon (bass)
Damien Cornelis (keys)
Richard Housset (drums)
Eric Chambouleyron (guitar)
Vincent Aubert (trombone)
Pierre-Marie Humeau (trumpet)
Track Listing :
What A Night
I Feel Numb
Time Out (feat Le Bim)
Superchil
Don’t you make plans on rainy days (feat. Ben l’Oncle Soul)
Nidnight Hour
Shouldn’t talk about it
It’s alright