I don't have an exact formula, but I figure that a decade in human years amounts to at least a half century in dance-pop artist years. The myriad foxy chanteuse/keyboardist/producer collectives perform in a sphere that's so reliant on trends, they're practically tattooed with expiration dates (as per their contracts). And when they fade, these radio-friendly "club" artists take their tunes with them. Try, for example, to hum a Black Box song. Shit, try to remember the name of a Black Box song. It's hard, you know?

Saint Etienne have deftly escaped the clutches of obscurity. Mainmen Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs have nipped and tucked their once dancefloor-tailored sound over the years. The band's first distinct departure came with 1998's Good Humor, a relatively organic, charming pop record. And though further departures were expected, The Sound of Water was a mini-ambush. Their lavishly orchestrated stomps were distilled into fairly minimal compositions founded on the joy derived from the pitter-patter of little beats. With their 60's lounge-pop heroes beaming through their songwriting as clearly as ever, The Sound of Water looked like expensive plastic surgery.

Now, as a belated follow-up, Saint Etienne offer Interlude, a compilation of b-sides, rarities and outtakes recorded during the Water sessions. And, if Water was a Beverly Hills facelift, Interlude, is the band deservedly basking in the success of aesthetic revision. Its best moments come with the one-off experiments that propel the band further from traditional dance music.

There was no place on The Sound of Water for the comparatively dense "Red Setter," a shame since it would have stood out as one of the album's finest moments. There's an impossible lack of tension between the song's rhythm (a laconic guitar riff, buried beats, and tentative bass), whirling electronic effects, and an astinato three-note piano cluster. The ambience is further augmented by vocalist Sarah Cracknell, who can be found alternately purring and humming a gorgeously sleepy melody somewhere in the middle of the song's thick layers.

The minimal 5 A.M. house of "Northwestern," the deliberate, piano-based torch ballad, "Thank You," and the virtually solo acoustic "Mountain Rain" are all perfect examples of Saint Etienne's success in restraint. But songs this sparse give Cracknell's thin and occasionally flat voice more responsibility than it carried on pre-Water releases. Though she doesn't compensate with overwhelming personality like, say, Deborah Harry, her airy vapidity is a fine fit for the music's dreamy tone.

Because Interlude is assembled from previously tossed-out material, a few scabs slip in. The French-sung "Le Ballade de Saint Etienne" features a churning beat so reminiscent of Enigma, it could as easily have been titled "Dullness, Pt. 1." The remixes tacked on to the end of the disc are far too beat-happy and uncreative to feel at home anywhere without a liquor license; Sound of Water's "Boy is Crying" is revamped as an inane, pumped-up, beat-heavy romp, and Trouser Enthusiast's eight-minute tech-house remix of Good Humor's "Lose That Girl" comes off as little more than pulsating regression.

With each release, Saint Etienne seem more eager to prove that they're more than just a dance act that digs the 60's. They've almost completed work on their sixth proper album that Wiggs reveals will be "seven times better" in Interlude's liner notes. Yeah, this kind of cockiness is irritating, but it shows that Saint Etienne's members realize they have a lot to live up to. Really, the next record could be only 1½ times as good as Interlude, and would still be momentous.

-Richard M. Juzwiak