To describe Camille Dalmais as simply a singer-songwriter would be akin to calling Jimi Hendrix simply a guitar player: a criminal understatement that seriously betrays a level of innovation many recording artists can only dream of.

Hyperbole? Mais non. The human voice is to Camille what the Stratocaster was to Hendrix: an instrument offering an endless source of inspiration and improvisation, sometimes beyond the realms of our imagination. Handclaps, stamping feet, chest-slaps and a myriad of vocal sounds including screams, whispers, low drone notes, beatboxing and spontaneous vocal play throughout live and recorded performances have marked the French artist out as an innovator extraordinaire, and a rare kind of original talent.

Comparisons to Björk and Kate Bush don't come easy. In Camille's case, such parallels are justified but undermine a fascinating talent and capacity for experimentation, as well as a seductive and versatile voice that stands her apart from contemporaries.

The 33 year old Parisian was given a break through a starring role and soundtrack credit in 2002 French horror Love Bites – directed by Rapido and Eurotrash presenter Antoine De Caunes - before signing to EMI France via Virgin Records and releasing magical début album Le Sac Des Filles.

As an on-off member of loose French collective Nouvelle Vague, Camille has reinterpreted post-punk classics like 'Guns of Brixton' by The Clash and 'Too Drunk To Fuck' by The Dead Kennedys as bossa-nova numbers, paid homage to the smooth jazz and lounge of the 1940s and 1950s, and perhaps unwittingly, become one of an elite few reinventing French chanson for the 21st century through solo and group work.

Contributions to animated film Ratatouille, performances with UK jazzman Jamie Cullum, French hip-hop force Saian Supa Crew and balafon/vibraphone duo Kouyaté & Neerman go some way to illustrate the 33 year old's eclectic and slightly eccentric musical tastes. Following 2005's Le Fil and 2008's Music Hole releases, Camille's fourth studio album Ilo Veyou sees her move into new creative areas and perform in both her native French and English.

Opening with stream-of-consciousness self-talk and a brief encounter with plucked and wilting strings in 'L'etourderie' (Absent-mindedness), the self-produced recording delivers an early highlight with 'Allez, allez, allez'. Camille in sweet playground chorus mode over simple, loose and lolloping instrumentation is kittenish and whimsical, and the conversations that drift in and out of hearing are a perfect example of the vocal trickery the French star likes to play with.

'Mars Is No Fun', a bouncing and mischievous little ditty about the perils of living on the red planet - “You cant open the window, there's no air outside the bungalow” – is a welcome step up to Camille at most coquettish, over a delicious double bass line and lush string arrangements.

If Bobby McFerrin and Dusty Springfield had ever collaborated on a track, it would sound like 'Bubble Lady': one minute forty eight seconds of jazz scatting and honeyed lilting singing with a ridiculously perfect bathroom reverb level.

Pirouetting from Joanna Newsom style folk singing of 'Le Berger', the tinkle of nursery rhyme melodies on 'The Message' or the melodramatic vibrato à la Edith Piaf in 'La France', skipping between seemingly unrelated styles and subject matter has never sounded so easy. Being with child (Camille gave birth to a son late last year), an imagined fable of a companionless shepherd, the strange platitudes of her home country, and best of all a penis banquet enjoyed by a group of women wronged by it's former owner, all get their turn and treatment in the album.

Ilo Veyou, although fifteen tracks long, is actually only thirty-five minutes. For most other artists this would be objectionable. In Camille's case though, it just leaves us wanting more.