I sometimes test the goth-fever-dream efficacy of albums on my wife. After just a couple of spins of this perfect cross between Collide and Goldfrapp (that’s reviewer-ese for “early Madonna with a creepy-eerie spiderweb edge and some techno-glitch,” in case you don’t know either of those bands) I was completely sold, but the missus — who’s as goth-minded as they come — is still, to date, not. There I was, hanging brackets for the damn pointless window drapes, cranking this and fully expecting to hear a familiar “Well this is kinda cool,” but no. Later, in the car, driving around: still zippo. I finally asked and got, “It’s like background music.” For what? Cutting?

Forget that noise. The woman is spoiled, getting free Coldplay and Pink and Scissor Sisters albums for her car and not having to suffer reviewing Glitch Mob and trombone-jazz albums in order to earn them.

Be ready: there’s a PR/Pitchfork scheme to front this boy-girl pair as the next Portishead. There’s barely a trace of hiphop in here, however, and as far as glitch and squelch and on-the-phone-patched vocals, Collide has it by a length. But Collide couldn’t write a song to save their mothers, thus I pronounce this the greatest goth-slash-dance-pop album of all time, for this minute.