espite going virtually nowhere, downtempo has been everywhere in the past two years: Functional dinner party chic, uncluttered instant atmosphere, heard-but-ignored wallpaper sounds. In the wake of Air’s Moon Safari came clutches of uninspiring groups that added just enough of Melodie Nelson to Jon Barry to Kruder and Dorfmeister to land a spot on one of the dozens of mix-and-match chillout compilations soundtracking post-show “Sex in the City” parties. It’s no wonder that when the European dance media fell over themselves explaining that Royksopp’s Melody A.M. was the downtempo album of 2001 that few took notice. (Compared to what, guys? Bent? Bonobo?? Lemon Jelly?!?) At the time, it was far better to be grateful that after three dozen or so slabs of retro-futurism, Air took themselves out of that race and hold out for the new Boards of Canada.


Well, if we did ignore Norway’s Röyksopp (actually, Torbjørn Brundtland and Svein Berge, who worked under the watchful eye of fellow Norweigan Geir Jenssen, aka Biosphere, before disbanding for a couple of years, only to reform, in 1998), it was our loss. The bpms rarely threaten triple digits, but to call it chillout implies that this is post-club comedown music—tonal stacking or hippie droning, heavy on bad vocal samples and free of deep, rolling sound. Unlike the playgrounds inhabited by those chillout bands—and other post-Air types, for that matter—the rhythms aren’t just here to keep time. Instead, they add texture and purpose, swinging from chunky bass lines to dub soundscapes.


There are, however, some debts to the downtempo big guns. Like Boards of Canada, Röyksopp create a widescreen landscape that resists equating scope with prog. Like Air, they’re economical, skipping along unhurried, wrapping each track around a hook, and recognizing when an idea is spent, employ a Beth Hirsch-esque female vocalist on one track, and sprinkle a hothouse saxophone into a few others.


But ultimately this is melodic pop. If there was any doubt that the first half of the album’s title was flippant, the duo scuppered them by kicking off the album with a track that samples a Burt Bacharach-Hal David composition, “Blue on Blue” originally sung by Bobby Vinton. A bit more contemporary is the near tech-step delight “Eple” and “A Higher Place,” with its graceful nods toward synth-pop.


Two tracks feature guest vocals by fellow countryman, the Kings of Convenience’s Erlend Øye, whose weary sighing voice is better served by the spacious ambience rather than his own cloistered acoustical drippings (as is also proven by his band’s remix album, which is superior to either of its previous efforts).


Röyksopp avoids the trappings of most compilation fodder by negating the original label. They successfully venture into Chill Out territory on the closer “40 Years Back/Come”, a weary exploration of drifting rural ambience and slight refrains, but wisely avoid most chillout. Do yourself a favor and do the same thing. Take the album home—just keep it off of your coffee table.