If you’re not already convinced by Petra Haden’s uncanny ability to mimic an entire symphony of guitars, drums, horns and other assorted instruments, here’s the latest from her camp: a cover of the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” recorded in a single afternoon. Since she put it on her site a while back, it’s gotten a fair amount of attention from the likes of Entertainment Weekly and the Globe and Mail. It’ll be interesting to see what she does if and when she decides to return to writing her own material; Haden’s gotten better at her acapella escapades since last year’s Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out, and “God Only Knows” is the most natural-sounding translation she’s put to tape yet. At this point, I can only guess that her next album of original material will represent a quantum leap over the still-charming Imaginaryland.

Though she could probably milk the covers angle a little more—for an extra treat, check out her version of “Thriller.” Yes, that Thriller.

Despite having French producer Bertrand Burgalat by her side, a suitably kitschy nom de plume for an identity, and a convincing command of the French language, April March isn’t actually of the Continent. The pop chanteuse has a much more interesting story; she’s really Elinor Blake, she hails from New York, and her last gig was as an animator with Spumco. Before illuminating the world of syrupy melodies and cooing French lyrics, Blake was busy creating the world of Ren and Stimpy. No simple pop tart, this one.

For her part, Blake’s pretty upfront about her dual identity. A lot of artists, when they put forth an identity so different from what you’d expect from the actual person underneath, stick to that identity as much as they can. Blake, on the other hand, doesn’t try to convince everyone her name is April, doesn’t pretend she’s French, and doesn’t disavow her animation past. Chrominance Decoder and Triggers, for Blake, are very much loving and informed tributes to the era of French ye-ye, and she gets a lot of the details right—everything from the lovely cover design to the music itself, which sounds (to these untrained ears, I’ll admit) like higher-fidelity versions of the real thing.

In various interviews, Blake talks about her surprise at the warm welcome she received from Burgalat and company. When she arrived, the retro pop revival had long passed in France, and they found it hard to believe anyone—let alone an American—would be genuinely interested in the likes of Francoise Hardy and Jane Birkin. But with several albums under her belt and no signs of letting up, Blake—excuse me, April March—has proven that she’s serious about her devotion to the simple pleasures of French pop. Lucky for us that we get to reap the benefits.

(p.s. Yes, “Chrominance Decoder” is where I got the term “chrominance” from. And for the record, chrominance refers to color fidelity, much as luminance measures light intensity.)

Kahimi Karie may as well be Takako Minekawa. Quirky alternative Japanese pop singer: check. Sweet, girlish vocals: check. Effortlessly cool electropop soundscapes: check. Occasional production work by Cornelius: check. On the other hand, given that basic template, the two have pretty different styles; whereas Minekawa is a bit quirkier and leans more towards the electronic side of things, Karie is a bit more europop. Towards that end, Karie moved to Paris and collaborated with the likes of Tahiti 80, producer Julien Ribot, pop singer Katerine, and Momus. Karie also seems to have made a bigger impact on the Japanese audience; she hosted her own radio show and wrote the theme song to Chibi Maruko Chan, a popular animated show—beating Puffy AmiYumi’s Teen Titans contribution by almost a decade. She’s also more closely aligned with the Shibuya-Kei scene, having worked with members of Pizzicato Five.

Her sound isn’t quite as jam-packed as P5’s, but it has that same intangible sense of cool about it—a distinctly late-90s, Japanese sort of postmodern retro chic (in other words, postmodern by way of Austin Powers more than Foucault). Karie isn’t quite as much an independent as Minekawa, and so there aren’t as many odd elements like a penchant for Kraftwerk-like keyboards to cause confusion. “Sleepwalking” is a simple concept executed very well: slick, narcotic atmospherics with breathy vocals on top. Karie can change gears quite easily, though; many of her songs are more overtly influenced by the likes of Gainsbourg and French garage rock. But it’s the more ethereal compositions, like “Sleepwalking” and her contribution to the second Katamari Damacy soundtrack, “Blue Orb,” that work the best; less self-conscious, less obviously the product of an outside producer, and less obviously aping an earlier style, it’s much easier to enjoy “Sleepwalking” on its own terms.

Somewhere in the same universe as Pizzicato Five but with a slightly more eccentric orbit, Takako Minekawa practiced a more overtly electronic form of pop music that, as time went on, also became more ethereal and narcotic. Minekawa’s early work, of which a helium-voiced cover of “Drive My Car” is somewhat typical, plays heavily to the cute Japanese pop ingenue stereotype. But by the time of Cloudy Cloud Calculator, a good four years into her music career, Minekawa had embarked on a sound that, while still upbeat and bouncy, resembled Kraftwerk more than Puffy AmiYumi.

“Fantastic Voyage” is a cut off Fun9, the album she released a year later. By this point, Minekawa had smoothed out the more staccato, blip-bleepy elements, thanks partially to production work by future husband Cornelius and DJ Me DJ You. “Fantastic Voyage” is the IMAX experience to Cloudy Cloud Calculator’s fifteen-inch rabbit-ear TV. It’s a fully realized dreamscape, peppered with fairy-tale samples referring to rare medicinal plants and magical forests. Oddly compelling and hypnotic, “Fantastic Voyage” may very well be Minekawa’s high point: a perfect amalgam of all her prior tendencies, arranged just so to create an otherworldly sort of experience.

After her marriage to Keigo Oyamada, aka Cornelius, in 2000, Minekawa seems to practically disappear. There’s a handwritten message on her site from 2002, but since it’s in Japanese I can’t make heads or tails of it. A farewell retirement note? A promise of more to come in the future? A grocery list? If only there were more clues.