There is a concession to the difficulty of categorizing The Keys’ music in the promo materials for Years Are Made of Seconds. It says, “Were one to label [Boris Paillard's] music (if only to appease the norm’s demand to do so), it would be described as a kind of acoustic folk ‘n’ roll.” While there is definitely a rustic acoustic foundation beneath each song, a label is irrelevant. This is art, pure and simple.

The Keys is driven by Boris Paillard, though it features many guests and collaborators. And with an affinity for so many instruments and styles, and with unique, fearless vocals– something like a gently off-key cross between Thom Yorke and The Dead Milkmen’s Rodney Anonymous, with a slight French accent– genres mean nothing here. The first song, “A Storm Inside the Breeze,” does away with any doubt on that pretty soundly– it is its own genre entirely. Call it, I don’t know, gypsy post-punk, with piano and saxophones? Call it what you will. It’s a frenetic opener, shifting speeds and time signatures, all the while remaining incredibly catchy.

But it’s certainly not the end of the surprises. Recorded in various spots across France, the album itself reflects some of that patchwork ethos with its shapeshfting styles. In its chorus, “Room With A View” showcases an accordion and layered vocals, sounding like a mashup of System of a Down’s quieter moments and a sea shanty. I say chorus, though technically it isn’t, since it shows up once and doesn’t return. The song is just over a minute long, and seems it has somewhere else to be. “The Quiet Escape” also comes and goes quickly, though even at its short length it feels like the most fully realized song here, a gorgeous piano composition with lyrics of impressionist dread. Charlotte Cornfield’s drumming in particular shines here, restrained and elegant.

This is a tour of sound, but never self-indulgent. Everything feels like it belongs, though with church choirs and accordions, violins and harmonicas, you’d think such a short album– nine relatively brief songs that seem to come and go as they please– would make you feel dizzy, but the experience is surprisingly satisfying. Nothing feels flung together; just fleeting. The brief, unexpected flute jam of “My Pulsing Compass;” the dusty, layered melodies of “The Landlord Prayer.” I would like very much to savor these environments a bit more, though their brevity certainly inspires repeat listens during which the small complexities and nuances you first missed begin to take root and blossom. An intentional effect? Maybe. In this way, a trip through Years Are Made of Seconds functions almost like tapping a memory, the way it is unconcerned with borders, bleeding and coloring and changing shape. We are being funneled from place to place and time to time at Paillard’s whim, traveling through his head space with much the same joy of discovery one experiences while traveling the country, or the world: seeing someplace new for the first time and understanding you will be able to take it with you.

The Keys at MySpace Music