Anyway. of course do not tick any of those unwanted boxes. One of the main reasons for that is plainly because their constantly shifting blend of psychedelic electronica, Ye-Ye and krautrock (amongst many, many other things) has been rarely copied through the years, and even then hardly ever carried off with the same sort of panache.

Copyists in a sense though have been given plenty of encouragement; Stereolab’s eleventh album, Instant Holograms On Metal Film is their first comprising new material since the late noughties’ Chemical Chords and its orbital companion Not Music.

The gap in the meantime has been filled by a slew of reissues, the touring of which first gave the quintet an idea that they might like to try updating their legacy, although that thought didn’t turn into action until 2023.

Inevitably, the self-created vacuum created led to plenty of speculation, but despite even Tim Gane admitting he had private misgivings as to whether Stereolab would be in the studio again, things clicked and in six weeks Instant Holograms On Metal Film’s root materials were done.

There was also the question of whether a fresh (or if you prefer increasingly rotten) economic and political backdrop would lead to more invective but, if you’re Stereolab, the societal fundamentals driving their collective philosophy have barely changed since their inception more than thirty years ago. Plus ça change…

Answering big question #1, if there is to be any radical departures it’s not necessarily in the music.

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The brief instrumental opener Mystical Plosives tampers with 8-bit retro before slipping into Aerial Troubles, a plaintive duet-of-sorts which seems to reveal where their mutual thought processes have been (“The numbing is not. The numbing’s not. It isn’t, not working  anymore…Thirsty is the fear of death.”).

The end of this fascinating sequence comes with Melodie Is a Wound, a sprawling jam that’s two parts elegantly welded together.

In the first, singer Laetitia Sadier prowls over a handful of simple chords and retro chintz percussion, whilst the unexpected synth breakdown that follows encourages dancing but only if you’re prepared to ride the cosmic freak out until the very end.

Things being not quite as expected come as standard, as we know. ‘Electrified Teenybop!’ is nothing of the sort, instead wordless and busy, the nerdy keys bordering on prog, whilst the fantastically titled Esmeplastic Creeping Eruption is in the mode of a refugee from some Gallic Sci-fi drama which never left orbit.

“As are they all”, we hear cynics cry, but Stereolab fans will reply that there’s always been more substance once the pretense is sidelined.

Here, the cerebral pop of Vermona F Transistor looks inward (“I’m the creator of this reality”, Sadier posits), whilst If You Remember I Forgot How To Dream comes in two segments.

The first totes wispy, dry funk and up-front brass, whilst its clarinet and Moog friendly partner heads deeper, lyrically weighing up whether we as a species possess the courage needed to unwrite our bleak looking future.

To an extent Stereolab – whether present or otherwise – have always allowed you to imprint whatever you want on them. Instant Holograms On Metal Tape offers more songs for stylish grown-ups in the riot.

Nothing is worth a fifteen year wait, but maybe this can finally help you decide whose side you’re really on.