February 28, 2008


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Miss Kittin, Batbox
Nobody’s Bizzness Records, March 4
Long misidentified as a piece of sonic arm-candy for the exploitive use of DJ Hell, Felix Da Housecat and The Hacker, Miss Kittin is in reality an all-pro DJ who, judging by her fearsome tats, looks like she could kick the asses of all three guys at once. Selling her preferred genre, electroclash — i.e. modified ’80s technopop — is the more pressing challenge she faces, and once again (this is her second all-originals album) she turns to doltish runway-model detachment as her vocal weapon (her stock-in-trade, true; she’s grimly determined to make people believe she’s not getting sick of it).

The album isn’t forgettable, though, and can be haunting when she’s camping up the goth (in ways that make She Wants Revenge look stone-cold serious). Most times the lyrics are revealing ciphers compactly delivered as antiphons for the Paris Hilton set, another thing we’re used to, but there are a few subtle dub ingredients here and there that match up just fine, wouldn’t you know, with the integral Missing Persons alien-spacecraft sounds and cheapie handclaps. A-Eric W. Saeger