Colder Heat

Marc Nguyen-Tan's 2003 debut, Again was a splintering mix of post-punk, electronic-disco and everyday paranoia. The opening salvo of his sophomore effort, Heat, occupies very similar territory. Wrong Baby opens proceedings with some fantastic Steve Kilbey gone disco vocals, and the mantra, "pretending is not an option". The bass-line clearly recalls Peter Hook. Where Tan succeeded with Again, and succeeds here, is that his distillation of sounds circa 1978-83 feels like a fresh update, rather than a contemporary facsimile. Losing Myself dismembers Gang of Four through shadowy elevator music, while The Winters Fields crackles like a sleazy funk take on Pil. To the Music is a barrage of Goth-tinged disco for people who like to sit in the corner and stare.

Yet there's some change in tack from Tan's debut, Downtown reels through the paranoid electronica like Blood Money-era Tom Waits. Tonight adds a little early Daft Punk to its narcoleptic tale of "a long white razor blade, going round and round in strange cycles". On My Mind speaks through a mineshaft of noise that wouldn't be entirely misplaced on Boy in Da Corner. Your Face splices muzak and lovesick bitterness perfectly. Tan croons "You brought your filthy love. You brought that strange old feeling. When I first saw your face." It's a clear sentiment, and its surroundings add gravitas.

The closing pair of Fade Away and Burnt Out echo with finality. The former rivals Robert Smith's most insular ditties, a spite "that slowly fades away", through some springy break beats. The latter has a clear, epic air of somberness to rival the Blue Nile. Its repeated message that "we're over and out...we're all burnt out, to the core" is delivered like Ian Curtis as a lounge singer. Reminiscent without sounding derivative, this is another fine effort from Tan.