Joe Mount and his cohorts in Metronomy breathe rarified air. While there are plenty of bands out there making well crafted pop music, I can’t think of anyone else who’s able to imbue it with the same uneasy brilliance. Take Corinne, off the painfully underloved The English Riviera. The composition is catchy and danceable (Mount knows nothing if not danceable), but there’s something off about it too. With its ambiguous lyrics and cold, space age production, the song takes on a menacing quality. It’s detached where it should be romantic, but still manages to be inescapably sexy. Metronomy have produced a song that sounds more like it was made by computers than using computers: slick, sparse, eerie and obsessive. There’s danger in its precision and single-mindedness. It comes off like the musical equivalent of Pasolini or Antonioni: cinematic, visionary and tightly controlled.