Stereolab
Aluminium Tunes

Marginality in power. This seems to be the philosophy of life of Stereolab for the past twenty years. And I, who adore marginality, can only agree. Their most distinctive trait is the style of their album covers, always the same, similar to those of the records that the seller of new and revolutionary Hi-Fi systems would let you listen to in the 70s to enhance their stereophonic properties: non-music music produced solely for this purpose. In their case, the "record" product becomes a true fetish, evidenced by their uncommon (talking about 1991) management of their productions, ultra-limited, sold only at concerts, which are becoming an obsession for "serious" collectors; the evaluations from Record Collector's 2010 edition are clear: between 100 and 200 pounds to secure their first 45s. Another marginal thing is the recovery of "other" sounds compared to those in vogue in psycho-dream England of the early 90s.

The aseptic Neu! of "Hallogallo", paradigmatic as much as you like but pushed to monotony in the 70s, are re-set and rise to new life with them becoming a starting point and gangue from which, not very often to tell the truth, they unearth pop nuggets that, precisely because of their rarity, are like an oasis in the middle of the desert: would a refreshing "Pack Yr Romantic Mind" have had the same effect if it hadn't been nestled in the vast sea of repetitiveness and minimalism of "Transient Random"? I really don't think so. In fact, I believe that this approach is Stereolab's distinctive trait, studied at the table since the McCarthy days by a not very satisfied Tim Gane from the sterile and unifying trend pop was taking. Finding his muse in Laetitia Sadier he brings to life a revolutionary yet simple project: to recover the German motorik of the 70s (and the Velvet Underground, but they no longer matter: the Velvet sound is biologically internalized by anyone who picks up an instrument), using demodé instruments - Vox, Farfisa, Moog organs - and embellishing it with pop nuances, Italian soundtracks for dramatic films (Morricone, who else!), exotic and chic traits superbly represented by Sadier's enchanting voice. What strikes about them is their ability to create bubbles of serene pleasantness, moments of alluring surprise, all the more precious because you know that at any moment it could be wiped away by the rolling Kraut repetition. 

The album in question is the third in the "Switched On" series, collections that bring a bit of order to their confused and fragmentary production, recovering B-sides, limited editions, and more. There's all the Stereolab world.