Sometimes, as an artist, you can revisit the same well and pull different types of water—think of Real Estate, or Chaz Bundick of Toro Y Moi, or Kurt Vile. And then, sometimes, you're just repeating yourself, like Ratatat. There’s nothing regressive or cynical in Ratatat’s consistency, because I do believe these two guys are making the music they want to make (see their game Genius annotations here), but I also think that on Magnifique, their fifth record, the well has dried up. There’s something about not being able to tell five years has passed between records that makes you wonder about an artist's evolution.
When Ratatat were at their peak (for my money, 2006’s Classics), the duo crystallized an aesthetic that was similar to chillwave before chillwave existed: a rudimentary, simplistic dissection, then careful re-assembly of, modern music’s most elemental pieces (keyboards, guitars, beats) that amplified the simple beauty of the bare necessities and evoked layered feelings of nostalgia. But, more often than not, Ratatat’s music has felt like a tasteful accessory, something that reminds you of other, more progressive electronic music, but mostly sounds great while trying on sweaters.
There are little gestures at switching things up, like the steel guitar on "Supreme". But it disappears as unceremoniously as it came, leaving no real impression other than, "oh that’s the song with the steel guitar." This is Magnifique's real issue: It’s not that the album is bland, it’s that it doesn’t really do anything or go anywhere. No matter how skillfully they may blend sounds, like on the dense "Abrasive", or the playful if thin "Cream on Chrome", or the lite-funk of "Countach", nothing leaves an impression. There’s no emotional core or tension. An uncharitable soul will say that’s always been the knock on Ratatat, but, especially after a half-decade absence, it seems awfully relevant now.
"Nightclub Amnesia" works itself into a nice groove, complete with one of the album’s most memorable riffs, but it’s also hard to imagine the song working on any dancefloor or anywhere else than the tamest apartment get-together. Even when Ratatat spent earlier releases like they were specifically working this angle—the barest, most minimal take on party music suitable for coffee-shops—they backed it up with memorable hooks or tones. Magnifique fades from memory as soon as it ends.
Fitting, then, that the most memorable song is a cover, the penultimate "I Will Return", offered as an emotional climax to the record. A quick listen to the Springwater original reveals something about the song’s stakes—and how it should affect the listener. It feels cosmic, triumphant. Ratatat cleans it up and rehashes it, like the sleek reboots of last decade’s blockbuster hits.
It seems confining to suggest that Ratatat's best music is often collaborative. But that’s also their most memorable and essential work, from Kid Cudi to their unofficial but rewarding remixes to the great Despot single produced by E*Vax. It's never seemed like their tone and vibe was substantial enough to last an entire album. And five records in, it’s hard to argue otherwise.
