There's an inherent aloofness to German techno. It's not meant to be touched. The pulsating thump and minimal bleeps are the oil and fuel supporting the dancefloor pistons. It's a machine built for motion and designed for functionality. It's emotionless.

Yet techno's foundation is anything but emotionally void. Kraftwerk's quest to become the machine-- to become emotionless-- was itself a declaration of emotion. From the coldness they and similar German bands such as Tangerine Dream and Cluster purveyed came unexpected personality and warmth.

German duo Mouse On Mars have either picked up on that dichotomy or inherited it by virtue of birthplace. Even Andi Toma and Jan St. Werner's reasons for insisting Glam (the duo's first offering on their own imprint) be released on vinyl only seems contrary to many techno artists' vinyl preference: since most DJs spin on turntables, vinyl is the functional medium; Mouse On Mars, on the other hand, seem to understand that the flowing analog conversion of records better lends itself to musical warmth than the cold digital patterns of compact discs.

Glam shouldn't be classified as a techno album anymore than it should be classified as Krautrock (a uselessly broad term that I always found similar to calling a American band "Yankrock"). It more or less averts such classifications by never pinning itself down. Mixed in with live guitars and drums are static bursts, muted bleeps and drifting synth patterns whose idiosyncratic comings and goings are far too random to grease the dance machine. Example: though "Port Dusk" has a constant beat supporting blurry foghorns, its sense of time is far detached from 4/4.

Likewise, the entire structure of Glam seems inconsistent with a singular cinematic motif, yet it was originally written as accompaniment to a film of the same name starring Tony Danza, which hasn't yet been released and likely never will. And if there is any dramatic structure consistent throughout, it's because of the musicians, not the film.

That's not to say that Glam doesn't have a cinematic feel to it. The subtle harmony stretching of "Mood Leck Backlash" is an aural opiate looking for a vein, and the clash of clangs, rubbery bass and slithering progressiona that continue over several side-b numbers one-up Aphex Twin at creating an atmosphere that is both sinister and calming. These opposites may not seem meant for each other, but under the direction of Mouse On Mars, such peaks and valleys are rendered as weightless and congruent as the needle gliding across the record.

-Shan Fowler