At a point in the mid-90s I was ready to declare the lounge music fad to be at once the sound of a lethargic god, and utterly worthless. The exotic productions of 60s stereo pimps and failed pop bandleaders were campy to be sure, but in many cases, they were often obscure enough to afford the kind of off-kilter experimentation that wouldn't otherwise stand a chance on a bill with Frank Sinatra or Bobby Darin. Guys like Les Baxter and Martin Denny weren't part of any counter-culture that might have had them, but were making strange music nonetheless; escapism, as sexy and thrilling as decent folk might ever be allowed to imagine, was their game, and if their silicone-injected future-visions had a fault, it was one closer to comfort than kitsch.

Thirty years later, enter Stereolab and their retooled version of this ideal, filtered through increasingly straight-faced takes on posh retro-pop and kid-proof krautrock. I'll have you know that I'm one of the few who didn't balk when their album covers went two-tone; part of this is due to the fact that I already owned more than one Baxter LP, and was only too happy to hear people who approached mood music from the same warped innocence. However, it also seemed to me that on records like Emperor Tomato Ketchup and Sound-Dust, the band weren't just playing odes to a bygone age, pumped up with electronic steroids-- they were becoming part of the same legacy, and carving their own niche as purveyors of the very same fake future the old masters did (though I guess those guys weren't quite so, er, Socialist).

During the mid-90s, 'Lab co-leader Laetitia Sadier hooked up with fellow eccentric Rosie Cuckston of Pram, to record a few tunes at Cuckston's studio. Despite both women's considerable pedigrees with atmosphere and studio manipulation, these sessions yielded low-key, minimalist pop songs that might have fit on albums for either's respective bands (though were probably a bit on the soft side). Later, without Cuckston, Sadier continued to put down tracks on her own ("Cache Cache", featured here, ended up as a Stereolab B-side), and if anything, that material was even more laid-back. Replacing the expected space-age spark is a pleasant obligation to nothing other than passing an afternoon away with easy melodies and analog orchestrations. Detractors of post-ETK Stereolab will likely appreciate the stripped-down (though hardly lo-fi) feel of Socialisme ou Barbarie, but I can't help but think this music could have used some of that good old silicone veneer.

"Un Express" is very reminiscent of Dots and Loops-era 'Lab, with its repetitive chord structure, synth interjections, understated brass, and especially the peppy, rhythm-box percussion sparkle ending. Sadier's distant moan transforms an interesting experiment in homemade post-rock into very alluring electronic pop, reminiscent of Raymond Scott's similarly homemade adventures of the 60s. Another highlight is the aforementioned "Cache Cache", beginning like the scary part in the Hawaii episode of The Brady Bunch, with slinky acoustic bass, accordion and Fender Rhodes. Soon enough, the deft shuffle of hand-percussion rubs up nice and smooth next to Sadier's always-gorgeous monotone French. This tune reminds me of the prog-lounge of Sound-Dust, though there's tenderness at work that I'm not sure I've ever really heard with Stereolab.

Socialisme runs out of steam during the numbers that fail to emphasize its more immediate pop aspects, and also in parts that are just too smooth for their own good. "Vent de Sud" might have been an interesting fantasy-disco number all dolled up in Elektra production values, but here it basically sounds like a demo-quality exercise in Casio-powered funk. "Enfin Seule" should be a dreamy ride through trombone heaven, but seems too flat, while "Sunrise Telling" doesn't have much more going for it other than the vintage fuzz on the bass.

Fans of either Pram or Stereolab should find something to enjoy on this record-- and it's not as if any of it is exactly off-putting. I might have wished for something more lively, but then, these are "bedroom recordings." It could be that just as the classic exotic sounds of vintage bachelor-pad pop weren't built to last beyond their era, this music sounds best in its own tiny frame.