Frequently referred to as Amis’s attempt at genre fiction, a “police procedural” or “detective” novel, but its real genre is “meta-detective novel”, after the fashion of City Of Glass or La Disparition. Amis isn’t as bent on disappointing the reader as Auster or Perec, though; he just wants to disappoint his characters. The narrator gets a few good lines in before the end, enough to remind me why I used to like Martin Amis.

Dawkins is petulant and dismissive, and the long– LONG– digression about elephant penises is not the only primly salacious part. I agree with his nominal thesis: that understanding the science behind something usually makes it more beautiful, not less. Understanding more about Richard Dawkins, though…

If this came out on LTM and had a dozen mediocre bonus tracks appended, you would be sure it was a reissued Factory Records 12″ from the transitional years between post-punk and rave. And you would go on the internet and be all “OMG YOU HAVE TO CHECK OUT THIS BAND I DISCOVERED”, at least for an hour or two, because that combination of deathlike reticence and total abandon was fragile even when it was happening a lot, and with records this hot, it always seems like a small series of alternating miracles: that it was ever committed to tape, but then that it was ignored or forgotten, but THEN that you’re holding a copy of it in your hands.

Except this is a new release by two Norwegians who, the last time I listened to them, used to sing about computer camp and penises. Call me post-modern, but right now I’m probably more comfortable having my ‘reverence’ button pressed by people like that than by somber late-80s Mancunians. Still, OMGWTF!?

If this came out on LTM and had a dozen mediocre bonus tracks appended, you would be sure it was a reissued Factory Records 12″ from the transitional years between post-punk and rave. And you would go on the internet and be all “OMG YOU HAVE TO CHECK OUT THIS BAND I DISCOVERED”, at least for an hour or two, because that combination of deathlike reticence and total abandon was fragile even when it was happening a lot, and with records this hot, it always seems like a small series of alternating miracles: that it was ever committed to tape, but then that it was ignored or forgotten, but THEN that you’re holding a copy of it in your hands.

Except this is a new release by two Norwegians who, the last time I listened to them, used to sing about computer camp and penises. Call me post-modern, but right now I’m probably more comfortable having my ‘reverence’ button pressed by people like that than by somber late-80s Mancunians. Still, OMGWTF!?

Not as sleep-inducingly precise as much of Morr Music’s ‘pop’ records, and not as smarmy as the Postal Service turned out to be. I mean, I still grin whenever I hear Give Up, but you know…

It took time, I think, for the synth-pop revival to ever get gentle, catchy, and energetic all at once, for the reason that those things were hard for creators of electroclash, IDM and ambient (respectively) to reconcile themselves to being. Maybe living through that narrowing-down era is what makes me unable to describe this except via what it isn’t, even though its primary characteristics are wonderfulness and not requiring much context.

If you want context, though: “Folder” was a big hit on the blogs a year or two ago. The computer-geek lyrics probably didn’t hurt, but really, aside from an over-long ending, it was nearly perfect. Different Places hasn’t budged an inch from the spot “Folder” staked out, but right now Plastic Operator totally OWN that spot.

[Available only in Europe or via PO's website. Sample songs on MySpace.]