After a fifteen-year hiatus, the UK avant-pop duo Stereolab have returned with their newest studio record, Instant Holograms On Metal Film—a lengthy, dynamic album that feels like a slice of the 60s in 2025. It’s classically Stereolab: Moog-sounding synthesizers playing alongside an energetic, live jazz band; whimsical lyrics entwined with blunt, anti-capitalist critiques; an effortless switch between French and English…If anyone “missed” Stereolab, then this is a neat return to form. Yet, while Instant Holograms On Metal Film rekindles the duo’s original spark, it’s unfortunately not enough to generate a roaring, explosive fire. There’s nothing new about this record, and, after years have gone by and several bands inspired by the once-cutting edge sound of Stereolab have produced their own experimental music, the unchanged pioneer becomes boring.

Instant Holograms On Metal Film does have an airy, vintage glean to it, once again channeling the spirit of 1960s French pop and krautrock for their electronic symphony. The album begins with “Mystical Splosives,” a minute-long introductory track that churns out a rapid melody of synthesized beats. (The gargling rush of notes feels like something Mort Garson would have composed on his Moog synthesizer in the 70s, transporting the modern listener to the days this kind of music would have been considered eclectic.) Glide into “Aerial Troubles,” and the band immediately switches tone: the march-like drumming of the keys, Lætitia Sadier’s somber and chilled vocals, and the snapping of the live rock band into action now carries a jazz pop flavor—a song seemingly ripped from the speakers of mod clubs in 1960s London.

This dreamy, whimsical energy from that era dances from track to track, even if Stereolab changes style, tempo, or mood. “Immortal Hands” is a perfect example: as the first instrumental track, it begins with a light, simple jam, stripping away the busy flourishes of the Moog to favor the keyboard, drum, and guitars. Then, the techno beat kicks in, the Kraftwerk-esque bleeps and bloops of the synth keys gradually join, and the disco-era groove guitar and brass band crank the energy to a fun dance. “Esemplastic Creeping Eruption,” which appears later on, has a similar structure, even with the added element of (nonsensical) lyrics. It’s a bit rockier: electric guitars drive the melody, and the different key parts act more as support for the metallic strumming. Yet, the subtle changes of tempo and final interruption by the reverb and feedback by the guitar also pack in some surprises. In general, Instant Holograms On Metal Film is quirky and neatly produced to bring a bygone era back to the forefront—again, classically Stereolab.

However, save for the occasional switch-ups to keep the audience engaged, the new Stereolab record is capital E easy listening, even where it isn’t intended. “Electrified Teenybop!” is a high- speed interlude placed directly in the middle of the album. It’s meant to function as a violent shake-up after the lethargic, surrealist, elevator music-sounding track, “Le Coeur Et la Force.” A duet between an electronically-composed melody and the upbeat crashing of the drums, “Electrified Teenybop!” should jolt the listener awake and captivate them with the spectacle of all the bubbling, techno sounds. Yet, a couple seconds after the song begins, the listener is lulled back into passive engagement. The melody relies on the same chord progression with a couple flourishes here and there, but nothing truly shocking. The rush is gone, never to return once the second half of gentle, glittery pop tracks all bleed together for a seemingly endless amount of time.

Instant Holograms On Metal Film represents a real and pressing issue in music, especially for artists who take long breaks between records: the “I miss the old sound” dilemma. Aside from the compilation cuts, live reunion in 2019, and signing to Warp Records, Stereolab haven’t made a new studio album together in fifteen years. So much has changed musically, technologically, and culturally since then; similar and talented avant-pop artists have built their own cult followings since then. (Of Montreal, Ginger Root, and Fievel Is Glacque immediately came to mind.) If they choose to change with it, find a different method to fuse electronic and jazz pop together, are they even Stereolab anymore? It makes sense to read their new record as a grounding experience—a way to find their footing again and re-learn how to work together. It will probably please the diehard fans, who have dedicated all the time in between to revisit their discography, and it will surely elicit the exciting phrase, “Stereolab is back! This is great!”

Yet the other side of the “I miss the old sound” dilemma is that musicians that refuse to change will inevitably stagnate. Instant Hologram On Metal Film is not as risky or spectacular as it might have been in the 90s or early 2000s, mainly because the breadth of avant-pop and electronic music has naturally expanded, changing what it means to be cutting-edge. Plus, it’s not like Stereolab’s older catalog is lost media; “missing” an artist is virtually impossible when their entire catalog is at one’s immediate disposal. So, with the advantage of time and progressions in the scene, as well as the reassurance that their identity will never be forgotten, it is strange and ultimately disappointing Stereolab wrote such a tame record.

Order Instant Holograms On Metal Film by Stereolab HERE