ate in June, a robot called Gaak, who was constructed and programmed to think for himself, was taking part in a study on “living robots” in South Yorkshire. He was taken out of the viewing arena, where several robots battled in a “survival of the fittest”, for repairs. He was placed in a holding pen, and left to his own devices. When one of the supervising scientists returned 15 minutes later, Gaak had let himself free from his pen by forcing it open. Gaak had made it all the way out the building, and was discovered in the parking lot. Eye witnesses place Nicola Kuperus and Adam Lee Miller of Adult. in the silver sedan that was speeding towards Gaak before he was discovered. Were the two accomplices of Gaak’s? Getaway car drivers for the robot refugee? After all, instead of just singing about robots, as most bands seem to have taken to lately, Adult embrace their inner robot and give it a microphone.

Adult’s first album is, essentially, a set of singles and compilation tracks. A collection of jerky dance tunes and electronic work outs that owes as much to the technology and robot obsessed Kraftwerk as it does to the legions of twitchy post-punk and synth pop bands. If you’ve seen the cult classic (and I use the term “classic” loosely here) Liquid Sky, then you’ve got an idea of what Adult are like. Aliens come to New York and have sex with trashy new wave hipsters, to feed on a substance that is created during climax. They then vaporize their partners as they bask in post-coital glow. The club scenes feature insane musical performance art pieces that alternate between unintentionally hilarious and brilliantly biting. One of the most amazing moments comes when a woman dressed in what looks like trash bags and leftovers from a Conan the Barbarian movie, sing/speaks about loving her “rhythm box”. “Meeeee... Meee and myyyyy.... Meee and myyyy.... rhythm box!” She twitches and pops her eyes, moved by her rhythm box. A proto-Adult to be sure, and perhaps a bit more accurate than calling Adult that odd and undefined of sub-genres, “electroclash”.

Resuscitation starts of with “Lost Love”, a minimal bit of ticking beats doing a “dueling banjos” number against some dark, deep keyboards and accompanied by Nicola Kuperus’ monotone vocal delivery, but the real fun kicks in on the next tune, “Hand to Phone (Cordless Mix)”. One of the first opportunities for some serious ass shaking, and one of the most danceable tunes about stalking, the beat clips along quickly and smoothly as Kuperus sings to her prey, “You’re on the phone/ I look at you/ I look at you cry/ How come no one’s over?”. This song could have easily been mistaken for a Pretty Hate Machine b-side if a mopey dude was singing along.

“Contagious” is a slice of New Order, by way of “Warm Leatherette”. Bright, melodic keyboard bleeps get cozy with whip cracking sounds and grinding, gloomy synth sweeps throughout the duration. Creepy and fun at the same time. Same for “Nausea (Restructured)”, which sounds a bit like an old Nintendo game system making out with a rowdy toaster. All the while Kuperus is singing, “You don’t even know, how I feel love/ Nausea”. She is the perfect straight faced foil to the impudent Adam Lee Miller. Adam creates the most magnificently simple, yet maddeningly catchy songs, all with tongue planted firmly in cheek. Miller takes damn fine dance beats and mixes them with a clashing mix of the deadly serious and the completely absurd. Thank god he does, otherwise this stuff might end up coming off like bad music for an all too earnest black and white art film.

Sure, it can get a bit repetitive and even nerve grating, but if you just shut up and dance, your feet and ass won’t mind a bit.