When
Stereolab
first reunited in 2019, they revisited the good old days, reissuing many of their classic albums and playing songs from them to audiences around the world. To live up to their stature as innovators, however, their return to the studio had to be more than a trip down memory lane. On their first album in 15 years, they don't pretend that time stood still after 2010's
Not Music
. Instead,
Instant Holograms on Metal Film
presents a
fit for the era to which they returned. Yes, the album's quintessentially
title may come from a 1970 issue of Electronics Australia, and yes, some of its fondly familiar sounds echo the likes of
Margerine Eclipse
and
Emperor Tomato Ketchup
("Immortal Hands"' pensive chamber pop could be a distant cousin of
Ketchup
's "Monstre Sacre"). More importantly, the band's energy is dynamic in a way that it hasn't been in some time -- a product of their steady touring that also recalls the charged atmosphere of their earliest singles. On each of
's billowing, exploratory songs, they rise to action, even if they don't do it in obvious ways. The morphing grooves and blasts of
Ben LaMar Gay
's cornet on the standout "Melodie Is a Wound," for example, come closer to the interplay between a jazz ensemble's members than a straightforward climax. This feeling of interconnection is reflected in the album's creative team, which features many members of
's extended family, including
Cooper Crain
of their frequent tourmates
Bitchin Bajas
and members of
Monade
,
Cavern of Anti-Matter
, and
Laetitia Sadier Source Ensemble
. As on her albums with the latter group,
Sadier
's warm, present vocals invigorate
's societal critiques. These are also clearer than ever on
: "Aerial Troubles" may offer a bird's-eye view of late-stage capitalism ("Greed is an unfillable hole/Thirsty is the fear of death/We can't eat our way out of it"), but its shimmying rhythm and choral harmonies are far from detached. Their commentary might even be more necessary at the time of the album's release than they were during the band's first run, particularly when
use beauty to envision a fairer, kinder world in the future and provide sustenance for the soul in the moment. Their pursuit of "higher frequencies" on "Transmuted Matter" is transportingly lovely, as is "Vermona F Transistor," a twinkling baroque-funk statement of empowerment where
declares, "I'm the creator of this reality." When she directs listeners to "explore without fear" on the finale, "If You Remember I Forgot How to Dream, Pt. 2," it sounds like a message of encouragement that an alien society sent from across the stars. Capturing the inspiring spark in bygone visions of what the future could be is one of
's greatest strengths, and the brilliant ways they do this on
don't just live up to their legacy -- they push it forward. ~ Heather Phares