The signs and signals aren't promising. An album recorded three years ago and delayed until now by a group who have subsequently split up. The year of 2002 wasn't kind to Stereolab. The very sad death of Mary Hansen and the break up of Laetitia Sadier and Tim Gane's relationship cast a somber shadow, and in the aftermath a certain freshness faded. Margarine Eclipse seemed a fitting farewell, being both sleek and vulnerable, tuning into a wistful, vintage new world. No classic, instead it felt like a dignified goodbye. Since then there's been two more records, both fairly staid, staying true to their characteristic pulse rather than exploring different avenues. It appears, with her other projects, that Sadier has been politely edging herself out of Gane's meticulous constructions. But at their best Stereolab ignited beams of light over their exact plasticity, combining the carefree and the studious.
So, what we have here is not Emperor Tomato Ketchup. It's Not Music. And Not Music is a feverish, obsessive idea of what the pop song can be. All angles are covered, with the clarity of a nervous breakdown, capturing essence through a skewed perspective. Basement Motown murk, fiendishly clever changes in harmonic structure, John Barry sass with a wink, Magic Band loopy rhythms, thumping pianos and bass drowned tantalisation giving a nudge to Don Cherry's visions of global unity and an unusual formulation of music-hall ska added for fun. Sadier skirts about the foreground, delving in occasionally without quite skidding. Phased and complacent at a whirlpool. Collages jittering with fuss, straight-laced and nuts. Too busy for answers. A couple of worthwhile remixes that dismantle tracks on it's sister record-Chemical Chords-come from Emperor Machine and Atlas Sound; one a Moroder late night vamp, the other a reverberating, shimmering dub with it's sights on close encounters. Signing out with the musical equivalent to an absurdist game is an audacious move. It's full of joy and brainy delight.
