Head here to submit your own review of this album.

From faux-live opening to dark lounge curtain call, Grasque is an overwrought drama pop curio with an icy substance where its heart should be. Sure, a few tracks outstay their welcome, but the record as a whole is not without notable successes.

'Balearic Cavernous Step meets the Pet Shop Boys' is the closest I can get to an adequate description of the form of a record that defies easy categorisation. Maddeningly inconsistent, Jannis Noya Makrigiannis's Choir of Young Believers spends long minutes in repetition when it could be delving a little deeper into warped luxury. Drawing on similar New Romantic roots as Outfit, COYB emerges as a pasty-faced electro soul collection undercut with a glitchy vein of humour. The artist cleverly breaks up the high camp, (all synthesized saxophone and wishy-washy guitar) with enough knowing moments of silliness to stop it tipping over into parody. COYB are best known for providing the theme for Scandi-noir The Bridge. Their latest record rather falls between two islands.

'Face Melting' is a bummed out joy, heavily sedated, gurning, bathed in ridiculous amounts of crystalline echo. Halfway through, the artist suddenly segues to double up on the beats and our hero appears to peel himself from the floor of the club for an extended dance sequence, before the wave subsides and we're thrown once more into the sweat-streaked corridor to chat the night away. If there is a concept to Grasque it is ecstasy. Not the state of consciousness, the drug.

Similarly to ecstasy, the record is largely a chemical masquerade, cleverly concocted to trick the brain into thinking it is experiencing a genuinely transcendent experience. Although lovingly put together, the base ingredients eventually leave a vacant taste - certainly not unpleasant, but dulled. The centrepiece 'Graeske' takes us through a number of natty breaks, dollops of synth and the otherworldly consonants of Makrigiannis's native tongue. It's a dizzying blend, coldly efficient but in the end, signifying nothing. Little emotion is expended. For long spells, it's just too damn mechanical. As with a lot of albums that maintain a steady, mathematical pace and consistent tone, parts tend to drag. 'Jeg Ser Dig' is six minutes of meh. 'Perfect Estocada' removes you to a mid-price Greek theme restaurant on a cheesy island resort. No music should remind you of preteen family holidays with a too-drunk dad and stony-faced mum eating wet salad leaves and flatbreads. No good ones anyway. The length of a lot of tracks feels unnecessary, plodding even. And yet, there is no sense that this is a bad album.

A lot of Northern Mediterranean food is built from a few, high-quality ingredients lovingly prepared. Grasque sometimes manages to make average pizza from excellent ingredients. When COYB are tenacious enough to boil a track down to a workable size, the result is a triumph. Often it can resemble unleavened music, stripped of the necessary rise and fall.

This is the place you'll find reviews from 405 Readers. To join in, head here.