The first four albums of a rock band follow a very precise pattern, roughly modeled after Wagner's Ring of the Nibelung: birth, conquest, war, destruction. A first record where they give their all; a second where they continue on their momentum, raising the bar a notch; a third where they start from scratch, and if possible, in the opposite direction; a fourth as an epitaph or a passport to legend. Cheveu are only at their third, but since they have already completely messed up the first two stages, there is nothing particularly surprising about seeing them come barreling down a country road ravaged by flames, with an album that quietly establishes itself as their most spectacular achievement to date.