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Ratatat have been adored by slavish cults in their half-decade away from the spotlight, many lumbering into the axe-strewn melee long after the Brooklyn twosome last released anything. It's been five years since 2010's LP4, but Ratatat have taken that time to sober, clean, and grow up. The result of their extended break is Magnifique.

Loosely - although not explicitly - built around a 'jukebox' theme, á la Queens Of The Stone Age's static-and-Spanish riddled Songs For The Deaf, Magnifique skitters through an array of sonic worlds, touching upon surf-pop, 'Freebird'-esque slide-rock, juddery dance and baroque. The album never really lingers long, but they take their singular style of noise on new adventures - it moves faster and further than anything else they've done prior in terms of their own limits.

By far the record's highlight, 'Abrasive' beams out a resounding sense of montage-triumph glory. Olympic victories, underdog comebacks, credit-roll kiss-offs - this is an anthem for the victorious; it's the 21st century's 'Eye Of The Tiger', inspiring to greatness via ridiculous extended guitar solos and shimmying disco-beats. It's ludicrously brilliant, and it's an unmatched pinnacle - a bit of a double-edged sword, and they may well have done better with this as a finalé, but hey-ho. The album doesn't topple because it's slotted in as track four.

Ultimately the success of Magnifique hinges on Ratatat's unwavering confidence in their own abilities. It's been half a decade in the making, but they didn't need to pussy-foot around a reintroduction, instead hurtling into something that no one really expected. Magnifique would rather be supping piña coladas than doing lines off a grimy cistern. Ratatat's coked-up hooks and warped, self-indulgent cock-rock swagger is all but flushed from their system, and though they're not necessarily 'better' for it, they're definitely no worse. Older? Sure. Wiser? Perhaps.

Mast and Stroud haven't resorted to guest stars or gimmicks - they're able to create something genuinely interesting and addictive while toying with their own formula. On album five, they still manage to experiment and sound as fresh as they were when they spat out 'Seventeen Years'.

Guitars (literally) purr and yowl over lackadaisical Hawaiian kitsch from the '60s in 'Drift' (perhaps the most chilled-out thing they've ever released), 'I Will Return' is a cover of the '70s psych-woozer by Springwater, and the title track swings through lilting beats with narcotic nonchalance. Ratatat weave through many sounds, but they always sound cohesive. Even though the pair have pushed their own boundaries further than before, they've managed to sound slicker than ever.

In doing that, they've lost the the dislocated, disjointed unpredictability that made the likes of Classics and LP3 so enticing - there's less a 'skeevy guy sharpening a knife in the corner of the bar' feel, and more a sense of 'no, I love you more dude'. The main thing is that you don't really miss the danger among the overwhelming joy that they've made.

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