Pitchfork

If Hans-Peter Lindstrøm is to be considered part of the great bearding of 21^st-century dance music, then his follicles are more like the militaristically clipped triangle of General Zod or maybe that sinister cropped goatee Spock wore when he was evil Spock. Not that the Norwegian producer's evil, per se, just that his 00s update of 70s dance is so spic and span--a graph-paper grid of handclaps, snares, bongos, and arpeggiating synthesizers. Even when he purposefully recalls Teutonic electronic greats like Cluster and Tangerine Dream, you suspect Lindstrom looks at their record sleeves and thinks, "Get a haircut, hippie."

"Let's Practise" adheres to the template of another bunch of longhaired Germans, in this case Giorgio Moroder's Munich Machine, a little too closely; it's practically a remixed version of "I Feel Love". For 10 minutes, Lindstrøm's dueling bass-synths rise and fall and intertwine with the loping curves of the green lines of an electrocardiogram, as his almost inaudible tsh-tsh drums mark time at a tempo too slow to dance to. Solale's (semi-improvised?) vocals wander across, over, and through her producer's mix with no respect, like a clubber sobering up and desperately stumbling around to this slow, stern synth throb at 5 a.m. Her voice doesn't quite bring Donna Summer-level lustiness, but it's enough to move "Let's Practice" from "science class" to "awkward grope before and after science class."