AIR: Le Voyage Dans La Lune

AIR: LE VOYAGE DANS LA LUNE (2012)

1) Astronomic Club; 2) Seven Stars; 3) Retour Sur Terre; 4) Parade; 5) Moon Fever; 6) Sonic Armada; 7) Who Am I Now?; 8) Décollage; 9) Cosmic Trip; 10) Homme Lune; 11) Lava.

It is interesting, come to think of it, that none of AIR's albums, up to this point, were straight­forwardly «conceptual» (discounting the S. Coppola soundtrack), even if their whole musical strategy seems to have been expressly designed for harboring «concepts». If the decision was in­tentional on their part, then 2012 is when they finally give in to temptation. Technically, the re­cord was also proclaimed to be a «soundtrack» — but to a movie that was made 110 years ago: George Méliès' landmark A Trip To The Moon, recently brushed off and remastered to the delight of cinephiles around the world. In addition, while the movie itself runs for about 14 minutes in total, the «soundtrack» is more than twice its length — which certainly makes it an independent project (or a serious challenge for all those who want to splice the two works of art together on their own — another brilliant way to kill time).

Comparisons with Moon Safari are inevitable, if only due to the similarity of the ideas expressed in the titles; but the two records are really quite different. Moon Safari just used the title as an ex­otic mental stimulus, since most of the compositions contained psychedelic, but not necessarily «sci-fi» elements and associations. Le Voyage Dans La Lune is a much more straightforward conceptual recording, and each of its tracks loyally serves the function of illustrating one part of a space journey. The vocals, as it usually happens on old-time AIR albums, are few, mostly consis­ting of announcements or wordless harmonies; only ʽSeven Starsʼ and ʽWho Am I Nowʼ have vo­cal melodies, the former delivered by Victoria Legrand of Beach House, the latter by the girls from Au Revoir Simone (an electronic dream-pop trio from Brooklyn) — both of them good, sui­table choices, even if the songs themselves are not particularly staggering.

At this point, nobody expects any sort of musical revolution from Dunckel and Godin, but within the limits of their personal fantasy world, Le Voyage might be said to occupy its own particular little corner due to its well-planned coherence. Of the individual tracks, I could single out ʽAstro­nomic Clubʼ, whose major hook is a buzzing guitar riff with ominous overtones; and ʽMoon Feverʼ, which melds a piano sonata approach with ambient and psychedelic elements (think a joint Beet­hoven / Brian Eno collaboration with both of them on acid). ʽSeven Starsʼ does sound a lot like prototypical Beach House (that is, indescribable on the individual level once you have described the general man­ner in which Beach House work), and possibly the otherworldly, cold and detached ʽWho Am I Nowʼ sounds a lot like Au Revoir Simone, even though I have never heard them (yet).

The point, though, is to take all this stuff collectively — not a big deal, since, even with twice the running length of the movie, it still clocks in at just over thirty minutes — and admit that it is all quite imaginative and «moon-worthy». Long-time fans of AIR, in particular, will not be dis­ap­poi­nted; on the contrary, those who might have feared the band had «sold out» with its constant movement to­wards poppier song structures and trendier guest vocalists will be reassured that the band has re­turned to a slightly more «hardcore» approach, with trippy sound effects, dark electronic grooves, Floydian melancholy, tricky time signatures, and unpredictable collocations (for instance, just what exactly is that absent-minded banjo doing, lost in the middle of the shrill and stern ʽLavaʼ?).

I, personally, would have preferred a balance tipped just a little bit to the side of «hooks» — had they done that, who knows, perhaps this fresh way of conceptual thinking would prompt them in­to producing another equal of Moon Safari. But even without that, Le Voyage Dans La Lune is a more ambitious project than anything the band has done since working for Coppola, and there is still plenty of inspiration left — thanks, perhaps, to the magical influence of Méliès — to justify that ambition. Hence, thumbs up. Next on the list: a new score for The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari, perhaps? That one runs for seventy minutes.

PS. The album is available both on its own and as a CD/DVD combo, the latter part containing the restored colorized version of the movie (not to panick here: colorized after Méliès' own initial design, as he is said to have originally hand-painted each frame himself) accompanied with AIR's soundtrack elements. I do not necessarily recommend going for that version — the movie is well worth watching, of course, but the idea of combining old silent films with modern scores has ne­ver thrilled me all that much (with some notable exceptions when the scores incorporate motives and elements appropriate for the time or situation — such as Richard Einhorn's oratorio that ac­companies Dreyer's Passion Of Joan Of Arc). Still, it's only three dollars more or something — and you probably get to own a collectible.

Check "Le Voyage Dans La Lune (CD/DVD)" on Amazon

AIR: Love 2

AIR: LOVE 2 (2009)

1) Do The Joy; 2) Love; 3) So Light Is Her Footfall; 4) Be A Bee; 5) Missing The Light Of The Day; 6) Tropical Disease; 7) Heaven's Light; 8) Night Hunter; 9) Sing Sang Sung; 10) Eat My Beat; 11) You Can Tell It To Every­body; 12) African Velvet.

Well, this is just another AIR album, and the difficulty of writing about each following one grows almost exponentially. If the reader is already familiar with it, there won't be anything enlightening in my review — not in the smallest degree. If not, here's just a brief listing of a few small out-of-the-ordinary impulses that I have managed to log:

— the unexpectedly heavy opening, as 'Do The Joy' fades in over a gruff, distorted bass line and sci-fi synthesizer whooshes that suggest Hawkwind nostalgia;

— the almost surf-rock style (although leaning towards the "ominous" effect) of 'Be A Bee'; I can just imagine its guitar parts played by the likes of Link Wray or Nokie Edwards;

— the innocent happiness of 'Heaven's Light' and 'Sing Sang Sung', two of the duo's best dream-pop contributions so far; 'Sing Sang Sung', released as the single, got quite a serious amount of flack for pushing the "fluffy" side of the duo too far, but the way I see it, as long as we have true crea­tivity, no fluffiness can be excessive enough to kill off the work of art — and, besides, the "fluffiness" is quite self-ironic, as can be easily noticed by anyone who has also noticed that Dun­ckel chants 'thing thang thung' in the chorus.

Other than that, I noticed nothing and I noticed everything. Love 2 is no better and no worse, no different from and not the same as any other AIR album ever released. We can hate this approach if we want to, but we must keep it alive, if only for the reason that not too many bands in our days keep using the same number of instruments on their records — and still end up with their records in the "Electronic" bin. Thumbs up, even though I'm not entirely sure why.

AIR: Pocket Symphony

AIR: POCKET SYMPHONY (2007)

1) Space Maker; 2) Once Upon A Time; 3) One Hell Of A Party; 4) Napalm Love; 5) Mayfair Song; 6) Left Bank; 7) Photograph; 8) Mer Du Japon; 9) Lost Message; 10) Somewhere Between Waking And Sleeping; 11) Redhead Girl; 12) Night Sight.

AIR never really made two albums that sound the same; but they certainly made quite a few al­bums that sound like they sound the same. Pocket Symphony, in particular, is anything but a se­ries of remakes of Talkie Walkie songs, yet I have a very poor idea of how to write about it. It does not exactly help that, no matter how many times I listen to this record, I rest enthralled by its icy beauty, yet each time that it is over, I cannot remember a single doggone tune.

Pocket Symphony is very AIR-y, even for AIR. Like a prima ballerina that, while dancing, most­ly floats above the ground, taking your breath away, it eventually reaches a stage when you start secretly wishing for her/it to plummet to the ground, for once, for a change. Zephyresque synthe­sizers, heavenly chimes, dreamful vocals, swooshing asteroid percussion, Japanese folk instru­ments out of some faraway Mizoguchi movie — my feet are soaking wet for spending too much time walking in the clouds. Don't get me wrong: these are songs, with melodies and even musical development, real small little parts that truly cling together in, I guess, some sort of 'symphony' — but they're all wrapped up in such dense layers of musical cotton candy that, in the end, it hard­ly matters whether there is any sort of development or not.

Not even the fabulous guest stars inflict any significant deviations. Jarvis Cocker of Pulp con­tributes ly­rics and vocals to 'One Hell Of A Party', sounding more like a highly drunk, deeply depressed Mark Knopfler than Jarvis Cocker; and Neil Hannon of the Divine Comedy contribu­tes lyrics and vocals to 'Somewhere Between Waking And Sleeping', sounding more like a deeply drunk, highly depressed Nick Drake than Neil Hannon. Both songs are pretty and elegant, but neither one has managed to stay with me the way 'Le Voyage De Penelope' or 'Playground Love' still does. Oh well, maybe 10,000 more listens will do the trick — it's high time I changed my ringtone anyway.

Giving this kind of record a "thumbs down" assessment will, however, not do, because within its own limits, it's admirable. Of course, admitting that it's admirable imminently leads to admitting that, for instance, Alan Parsons, whose music frequently sounds the same way, is also admirable, and to admit, in the XXIst century, that Alan Parsons is "admirable" immediately brands one as a soul hopelessly lost in irreality. But as a soul hopelessly lost in irreality, and speaking out to other souls hopelessly lost in irreality, I am fond of Pocket Symphony, somewhere deep down inside that is, and when the new ringtones work, my thumbs up will be fully validated.

AIR: Talkie Walkie

TALKIE WALKIE (2004)

1) Venus; 2) Cherry Blossom Girl; 3) Run; 4) Universal Traveler; 5) Mike Mills; 6) Surfing On A Rocket; 7) Another Day; 8) Alpha Beta Gaga; 9) Biological; 10) Alone In Kyoto.

Talkie Walkie. The title itself suggests a certain aura of cuteness, even if its diminutive suffixes no longer serve a primarily diminutive purpose. But the contents match the title: indeed, this is a lighter, happier record than 10,000 Hz Legend, and it helped restore the duo's critical reputation at a time when they were all set to join the back rows of faceless losers. A bit of help should also be credited to producer Nigel Godrich, who always brings a bar of Refined Musical Taste with him into every studio he visits.

One widespread opinion, with which I mostly agree, is that the album is somewhat of a compro­mise between the "symphonic ambience" of Moon Safari and the grim electronic bleeps of Leg­end. There's quite a bit of singing, mostly by guest vocalists I do not know anything about; there's quite a bit of sonic experimentation that could throw off the casual listener, yet not a single track goes overboard with it (e. g. 'Run' is occasionally derailed by the looped electronic pulse of 'run run run run', but is otherwise 10cc-type-chorus-adorned "adult contemporary"); and, sometimes, paranoia and carelessness are joined neck-to-neck under an oxymoronous yoke, as in 'Alpha Beta Gaga', which starts out as a vivid representation of a panic attack, but then, with just one little bit of whistling, is transformed into a catchy kiddie-like wordless singalong ditty.

The two singles were 'Cherry Blossom Girl' and 'Surfing On A Rocket'. The former could be seen as a belated paired response to 'Sexy Boy', another evocative acoustic-electronic mantra that is, predictably, gentler and more romantic than its predecessor (however, just as memorable, even if the airy chorus is a bit too close to the clichéd "look-at-me-I'm-so-sexy" style of Mylène Farmer, France's national pride and shame). 'Surfing On A Rocket', meanwhile, is a pretty energetic (for AIR) chunk of dream-pop whose jumpy electronic riff in the chorus gives an odd idea of what the process of 'surfing on a rocket' could really look like, but any track that gets me thinking about what it's like to surf on a rocket is OK by me, anyway.

If the record has a flaw, it may be extra smoothness; Legend at least had a few vigorous "jerk-ups", whereas Talkie Walkie runs at more or less the same volume and adrenaline level through­out, so much so that it's very easy to miss the special "minimalistic complexity" and non-triviality of the closing mini-suite 'Alone In Kyoto' (specially written by the duo for the soundtrack to Lost In Translation, along the lines of their continuing friendship with Sofia Coppola, an addicted sucker for Euro­trash if there ever was one). Don't do it; the track alone is worth owning the re­cord, yet the record may take a few extra listens to ascend from the initial impression of relaxed, lazy elevator pap to the next level of artistic integrity. Thumbs up, heart-wise first, brain-wise slowly catching up.

AIR: 10,000 Hz Legend

AIR: 10,000 HZ LEGEND (2001)

1) Electronic Performers; 2) How Does It Make You Feel?; 3) Radio #1; 4) The Vagabond; 5) Radian; 6) Lucky And Unhappy; 7) Sex Born Poison; 8) People In The City; 9) Wonder Milky Bitch; 10) Don't Be Light; 11) Caramel Prisoner.

AIR's first proper album of new material since Moon Safari pretty much bombed in the face of the critics. All of a sudden, people were realizing that these French guys weren't really breaking a hell of a lot of new ground — and, in addition to that, they were sort of getting all serious and pretentious, with a progressive attitude on which modern progressive criticism has signed the exclusive lease to Radiohead. And AIR, after all, are no Radiohead. They're French!

However, putting aside the odd neurobiological impulses of modern day criticism, it is still nece­ssary to admit that 10,000 Hz Legend is a different album. It is no longer structured like a jour­ney; it is relatively monolithic, saddled with many more vocal tracks, and, overall, much darker and, in fact, more Electronica-like than Moon Safari. There is still plenty of real instrumental di­versity, but more of the tracks are openly driven by the power of electronic impulses, and echoes of Kraftwerk and their robots keep ringing in the head even in the ensuing silence. It's as if the band suddenly remembered which particular hole they were pigeoned into and decided to play submissive, bringing along the whip and collar.

But it's good clean fun all the same. With a whole squad of guiding angels — everybody from Pink Floyd to Depeche Mode to, yes, Radiohead — behind their backs, AIR still deliver nice moo-sic (-zak?). Since keeping hip is an essential ingredient, they also recruit individual angels-in-the-flesh to spice things up: Jason Falkner, Japanese rockers Buffalo Daughter (!), and even Beck himself all make guest appearances on vocals, and a couple of members of Beck's becking, sorry, backing band offer further support on bass and keyboards.

Results? Nothing groundbreaking, nor do the proceedings sound as lush and dreamy as they used to be. We are moving away from pastures, forests, and oceans to the gloomier and murkier depths of the subconscious, although that move does not truly occur until track five, 'Radian', with its creepy game of hide-and-seek unfurling before our eyes between the electronic loops and the ghostly vocal echoes. Before that, things are unquestionably lighter: we have the Floydian 'How Does It Make You Feel?', acoustic, minimalistic, and quite effective (although I, for one, was quite happy when its annoying breathy vocals were so properly lampooned in its totally unexpected final lines — nice to learn the duo have plenty of self-irony), the al­bum's only "pop-rocker" 'Radio #1', and 'The Vagabond' — a harmonica-led bluesy number which really truly is as much Beck as AIR, and maybe even more Beck than AIR.

Then, with 'Radian', we make the descent... no, not into Hell — Godin and Dunckel are too wim­py to earn the right to build up their own private Hell — but rather into the waiting room where you suffer more from your own insecurities about the future than whatever actual torment may await you in a matter of hours. These other compositions tend to merge in one large lump — one large, highly creative, if not thoroughly highly exciting lump.

Come to think of it, it is easy to understand all the disappointment: people may have been expec­ting AIR to break down one more wall in the back of their minds, and, instead, got one reinsta­ted, as the band made a conscious decision to fall back on already explored ways of music-making. The basic question, however, is: whatever made people expect that AIR could have done some­thing like that? There was nothing particularly groundbreaking about Moon Safari either — ex­cept for, perhaps, just the basic shock of seeing an electronic band bring out acoustic guitars and real strings from time to time. But then they also do it here. There's just a bit more bleeping. I can't say all of it drives my imagination to new, ever more glorious heights, but thumbs up all the same, says the heart, while the brain takes a break.

AIR: The Virgin Suicides

AIR: THE VIRGIN SUICIDES (2000)

1) Playground Love; 2) Clouds Up; 3) Bathroom Girl; 4) Cemetary Party; 5) Dark Messages; 6) The Word 'Hurricane'; 7) Dirty Trip; 8) Highschool Lover; 9) Afternoon Sister; 10) Ghost Song; 11) Empty House; 12) Dead Bodies; 13) Suicide Underground.

The Virgin Suicides, if the reader is in need of a reminder, was Sofia Coppola's first film and to­day is more of a "cult" favourite among movie buffs in comparison to her major success with Lost In Translation — which, the way I see it, was a much better film, but, since its success was "major", and also since it did not concentrate on hot teenage girls, is perhaps less fondly mentio­ned among the hipster crowds. (OK, so Scarlett Johansson was a hot teenage girl, but in Virgin Suicides you had five of them, including Kirsten Dunst, and it was all about wanting and being unable to get laid anyway).

Still, the movie was good enough to go and get depressed to, and a major part of that had to do with the soundtrack. Now it is important to remember that there are two soundtracks, both called The Virgin Suicides: one faithfully reflecting the actual music from the movie, with extra Heart and Todd Rundgren and other inclusions, and one entirely consisting of AIR's contributions, with expanded versions of many themes that are only there in tidbit form in the actual movie. Since Heart and Todd Rundgren are pretty deserving artists on their own, I'd say getting the former ver­sion makes little sense. The latter, however, can easily qualify as not just a mere soundtrack, but as a proper AIR album in its own rights — dressed up as a concept one, at that.

It is more monotonous than Moon Safari; most of the tracks follow the same unhurried, rigid mid-tempo beat which, when well-fed with synthesizers and arrays of other instruments, again gives the impression of traveling — but if on Moon Safari you were given the right to visit all kinds of places, with Virgin Suicides you are hopelessly stuck on an endless Journey Through Dark Forest. The soundscapes are dim and dreary, the keys are minor, and the general mix of smokey-loungey-sax, mystical chimes, Gregorian chanting, and mid-Seventies prog rock à la Pink Floyd and/or Genesis is a great way to lower one's spirits as you understand that you will, in fact, never ever find your way through the forest. Just forget it.

Only one track has vocals: the opener 'Playground Love', sung (or, rather, breathily croaked) by 'Gordon Tracks' (actually — Thomas Mars from the French band Phoenix) in a semi-progressive, semi-"alternative" manner. But it might as well have none — the album needs no vocals, and even the odd bit of voiceover from the movie that pops up every now and then feels distracting from the overall experience. Individually, not all the tracks work, but at least each second one is driven by some fantastic melodic idea, and that idea may be completely unpredictable — it may be a huge electronic Eno-like swoop on 'Dirty Trip', or a McCartney-like piano melody on 'High­school Lover' (a minimalistic instrumental reworking of 'Playground Love'), or a sad funebral organ pattern on 'Empty House'. Speaking of which, it doesn't much feel like an Electronica al­bum: live instruments occupy at least as much space as the synthesizers, and some of the tracks feature sharp, expressive, vivacious drum patterns that are as far removed from the "sci-fi" sheen of the genre as possible.

The Virgin Suicides, in all listings of AIR albums, is never set aside into a special "soundtrack" category, and I applaud this decision. It may be less diverse than Moon Safari, and the nagging voiceovers may remind us that, want it or not, it is a soundtrack, but upon all counts it is simply another excellent impressionistic invention that should please everyone who loves good music by talented artists and the idea of young girls taking their lives so that talented artists can make some good music. Thumbs up without a doubt — along with Magnolia, this is the hardest-hitting "non-soundtrack soundtrack" of the decade.

Air: Premiers Symptômes

AIR: PREMIERS SYMPTÔMES (1999)

1) Modular Mix; 2) Casanova 70; 3) Les Professionnels; 4) J'Ai Dormi Sous L'Eau; 5) Le Soleil Est Près De Moi; 6) Californie; 7) Brakes On.

From a strictly chronological perspective, this disc should have been placed first, since it's basi­cally a collection of AIR's first singles (starting with 1995's 'Modular Mix' and then all the way up to 1998). But this particular edition, reinforced with a couple newer outtakes, dates from 1999, and besides, Moon Safari is such a more comfortable opportunity to start off with, that I am ready to forgive myself this little chronological discrepancy.

The five large, dense mood pieces on here do, indeed, sound like very natural precursors to the pleasures of Safari. They are, however, even more "ambient" than the material from 1998: fewer jarring sounds and tones, softer rhythms, almost no vocals, and thorough stylistic unity. There is no guarantee that you'll seriously love this even if you are a fan of Safari. If the latter was an ad­venturous journey, where you had to overcome obstacles and alternate periods of tempest and tur­moil with periods of rest and repose, then Premiers Symptômes is rather like the "First Stage" of that journey — you know, the first five or six chapters from your average XVIIIth century trave­log where nothing much happens and you are simply supposed to get in the mood.

It does call for repeated listens, though, because eventually the hypnotic elevator ambience may dissipate and through it you'll see shades of heavenly loveliness, particularly on the somber, ma­jestic 'Le Soleil Est Près De Moi' and the... uh... somber, majestic 'J'Ai Dormi Sous L'Eau'. It doesn't hurt that they use plenty of different synth tones and non-synth instruments — the warm, gentle chivalry of the French horn on 'Soleil' and the schizo friendliness of the sitar on 'L'Eau' being just a few of the more memorable items.

I am not sure if the whole experience deserves its own album — maybe adding it as five "prelude-like" bonus tracks to Moon Safari would work better — but that does not prevent me from giving it a thumbs up all the same. If all elevator music sounded like this, we'd all be spend­ing much more time in elevators. Not that I'm sure it's such a good idea.

AIR: Moon Safari

AIR: MOON SAFARI (1998)

1) La Femme D'Argent; 2) Sexy Boy; 3) All I Need; 4) Kelly Watch The Stars; 5) Talisman; 6) Remember; 7) You Make It Easy; 8) Ce Matin-La; 9) New Star In The Sky; 10) Le Voyage De Penelope.

In 2008, Moon Safari was given the royal treatment of coming out as a 3-CD 10th anniversary edition. This should be interpreted as a fact that today, it is tacitly acknowledged as a history-con­firmed classic of its genre, whatever its genre may be. But there is something uncomfortable about this — namely, the alarming speed with which the record becomes likable, and the nagging suspicion that, perhaps, this is a bit too fluffy to have gained "classic" status so quickly? Aren't you supposed to "get into" the classics?

Usually, Moon Safari gets pinned under either the broad category of "Electronica" or, somewhat narrower but no less vague, under the "Chillout" moniker. The latter definition, I like; Moon Sa­fari is indeed a great album to "chill out" to, regardless of whether you're doing it properly, after a laborious dance floor workout, or simply after a hard day's work. But stocking it in the "Elec­tronica" department wouldn't do it proper justice, because both before and after its release, the typical associations to go along with the word are quite far removed from what you're going to hear on this particular record.

It is, of course, dominated by electronic gadgets, although regular guitars, pianos, strings and even brass instruments regularly complement the picture. But it's wildly retro in its use of said gadgets; totally "anti-Kraftwerk", in the sense that we're going back from the image of Electroni­ca as this totally different, futuristic, technophilic, sci-fi oriented wave, to the earlier role of syn­thesizers as assistants in capturing various special shades of classic harmony — the way they were treated by early art-rockers, from Pete Townshend to Mike Oldfield. Yet at the same time it's different, because it makes use of all the experience in between. The early art-rockers were spacemen-to-be, testing their vehicles on Earth; AIR are spacemen-that-were, still singing their song on the same planet, but only after they'd gone and come back.

So, Moon Safari is really an "art-pop" album in the Oldfield tradition, but burdened with some of the newer electronic conventions (such as sampling). As such, it brings nothing new to the table except for a set of nice melodies, ranging from "simply cool" to "far out", especially if you're into mushrooms on the side. Two of the songs, featuring guest vocals from singer-songwriter Beth Hirsch, are straightforward sentimental ballads, one of which ('All I Need') they even managed to turn into a hit. The rest are cute, inoffensive, moderately complex and almost always emotionally charged sonic panoramas, each of which would make for an unforgettable accompaniment to some pretentious modern art exhibition (threatening to divert all attention to the music).

Perhaps the most fascinating thing about these gradually unfurling paysages is how technically immaculate all of them sound. There isn't a tremendous amount of detail, but what there is is glossed to perfection. Obviously, it is hard to expect instrumental virtuosity from a French elec­tronic duo, but even if the bass line on 'La Femme D'Argent' isn't the most complex and fluid bass line on Earth, it gives as much beauty, power, and funky coolness to the track as its more promi­nently melodic keyboard overdubs. And even if the main theme on 'Ce Matin-La' is literally heralded by a soft, friendly trumpet tone, its acoustic guitars, quietly ringing in the background, are strummed with precise attention to each note. This resplending gloss — stunning, but never annoying — almost made me think that this, perhaps, is what Steely Dan could have produced were they to ever venture out into the fields of "chillout" (well, come to think of it, late period Steely Dan are the perfect "chillout" outfit).

On the other hand, gloss is nothing when it gets you nowhere, and these guys certainly have a vi­sion that can get you somewhere, if not anywhere. Apart from the obvious album title itself, only the last track has a "travel" tag ('Le Voy­age De Penelope', having nothing to do with Ulysses' wife but rather with some obscure French TV show of the same name), but, really, most of the record has a "travel" mood to it, taking you from the astral plane ('Kelly Watch The Stars') to romantic rooftops ('Remember', intelligently dri­ving along to the sampled rhythm from the Beach Boys' 'Do It Again') to sunrise-lit prairies ('Ce Matin-La') to creepy nighttime forests ('Talisman') to unexplored sea depths ('Penelope'); and the most fun thing of all is that you don't need to take my word for it, but are welcome to construct a little fantasy galaxy of your own. I didn't even mention the big hit that made the boys into super­stars ('Sexy Boy'), but, truth is, I find it just one ordinary part of the album's overall charm, and maybe not even one of the best ones.

So, to return to my original question — no, I don't think the lush 3-CD edition was completely un­deserved (although I have no idea whether the additional material is worth looking for). Moon Safari is not a trashy Katy Perry-class attention grabber; it is a piece of light, but serious, art with a lot of soul and an even bigger lot of work invested into it, and, despite having been produ­ced at the height of the post-modern era, it hearkens back to idealistic values of yore, and being so cleverly placed at the intersection of the two, it's got that special something which I, for in­stance, have never managed to find in any Autechre album. It is impossible to deny, however, that, compared to Autechre and the like, Moon Safari is definitely "easy listening", and that it is unlikely to expect the elitist parts of the audience to worship at its altar.