Head Over Heels

This is as close to the live iteration of Chromeo that one of their records has ever come.

Chromeo specializes in upbeat, retro-embracing synth-funk—but, unlike others in a similar vein, the Canadian duo exists in an area somewhere between a come-hither wink and a seduction parody. On Head Over Heels, the group strikes a perfect balance between these extremes. Credit for this goes to the roster of impressive special guests.

Music this nakedly derivative requires sharp pop instincts to be successful, and tracks like these prove that Chromeo are still able to create magic within their well-worn source material, even if they are retreading old ground.

The most dependable dance band of the 21st century continues its consistency streak on Head Over Heels, which contains enough radio-ready rump-shakers to earn a spot in your warm-weather playlist for this summer and a few more to come.

It’s not perfect; a couple of the album’s feature spots from the likes of D.R.A.M. and Stefflon Don feel a little crowbarred-in, there's less of the punchiness that characterised the duo's early work, and the lounge-funk interlude of Right Back Home To You goes on for at least a minute too long. But when the pieces fall into place there aren’t many bands that exude this much ridiculous, filthy, party-starting energy.

That's not to say there aren't glorious passages on Head Over Heels. Listen to the long, climbing curve in the second round of backing vocals during the chorus of "Right Back Home to You;" the shimmering, too-brief melodic interlude in "Count Me Out," which is so rich it could serve as the basis for another song entirely; or the groove on "Slumming It," which is an impeccable riff on Chemise's "She Can't Love You." But these moments are fleeting, and there aren't enough of them to make you fall head over heels for this album.

Chromeo's formula is well-suited to producing unpretentious, likeable pop-funk; it's just too bad that it's never felt more like a formula than ever before.

Head Over Heels might replace the duo’s trademark mannequin legs on the cover for their own, but these days such co-opting of realness is real meh. It’s genderfluid like a tech bro in a stunt romper drinking a Monster. The farce is strong with these ones.