Goldfrapp, Seventh Tree

Initial response: um, what? I’ve caught snatches of Goldfrapp over the past several years, alternately lulled into a Brave New World coma by the ’50s sci-fi lounge stylings and thrilled by the bumping, grinding robo-sex of “Strict Machine,” and now…this? Pastoral, delicate, hazy-summer-day orchestral folkiness, with nary a robotic thump or warbly synth in sight. At first blush, Seventh Tree is slow, slow, slow to the point of near-somnolence. The first time I listened to the disc, barreling down the highway in the car, I very nearly chucked the damn thing out the window — it practically put me to sleep behind the wheel.

In quieter surroundings later on, though, I put on the headphones, gave it a second try, and discovered that Seventh Tree is absolutely a headphones-required affair. It’s the only way to do it, honestly; the music’s layered beyond belief, and casual listening on car stereo speakers doesn’t really do it justice. Despite my initial disillusionment, as well, this is an electronic album like the rest of the band’s oeuvre — it’s just that rather than crafting dancefloor anthems or sly James Bond themes, Alison Goldfrapp and Will Gregory have instead gone organic, with a set of warm, pretty, supremely inviting, earth-toned bits of downtempo folk-jazz (although yes, the ghost of Felt Mountain does indeed peek its head out, on “Cologne Cerrone Houdini”).

It helps, I’m finding, if I think of Seventh Tree as the sunny-side answer to fellow electronica refugee Beth Gibbons’ Out of Season project. There’s the same subtle jazz vocal influence, the same melding of electronics with real-live folk instrumentation and rhythms; heck, on the sublime “Eat Yourself,” Goldfrapp’s voice takes on a cracking, vulnerable sound that nears Gibbons’. Where Out of Season invites you to open your veins out back under the old oak tree, however, Seventh Tree wants you out in the sunlight, dancing and swaying gently in fields of tall grass. Take, for example, the Beatlesque “Happiness” or the grandiose, beautiful “Little Bird,” which is seriously reminiscent of the Chemical Brothers’ Surrender — both are bright and smiling and warm like a beautiful day in summer.

It’s that sunshiny-ness that makes this album work, in the end. The lugubriousness I cursed on the first listen’s still there even with the headphones, but it becomes less boring and sleep-inducing and more cheery and hypnotic. The quiet sucks you in, especially on a track like “Some People,” which starts with only Goldfrapp’s voice underscored by minimal piano and strings, and makes absolute sure you’re actually listening both when she dives into an impressive falsetto and when she promises, “What you thought you lost / was just mislaid.” Despite being nothing like anything I’ve ever heard from this band ’til now, the song just drops me where I stand. Same goes for the nicely Imogen Heap-ish “A&E,” which is probably the closest to a dancefloor seduction track the band gets this time out.

Good as they are, though, they’re nothing compared to the full-on body blow of “Caravan Girl” — it’s sassy and speedy and melodic with gorgeous, gorgeous vocals and wonderful synths, and it’s just about a pitch-perfect pop song, I swear to God. It’s like an ABBA song as covered by Feist, all light and fire and unashamed adoration, a song about just taking a girl’s hand and running away to somewhere the two of you can be alone, on your own, and never coming back. Any lingering doubts I had about Goldfrapp and Seventh Tree are gone, gone, gone, and they ain’t coming back. I get it now — Goldfrapp and Gregory really can do any damn thing they want. Wow.