Imagine, if you will, that you are at the carnival in Rio de Janeiro but that every float is populated, not by gloriously bedecked Rio residents, but instead by Brooklyn scenesters in those annoying white-rimmed sunglasses. Imagine that despite this somewhat troubling vision, you are compelled to move to the glorious collision of tribal rhythms and synth-based disco melodies emanating from the sound systems. This is as good an evocation as possible of the experience of listening to this collection of Tanlines’s previous releases. Frankly, this is a fairly irresistible record, and your suspicions of it (engendered by the band’s truly awful moniker) should be left at the door.
