Birthday present from George J. Haugh, December 2007
Studio… I mean, come on… has a band ever had a more boring name? Even with the excuse of being from Sweden, these chaps really did go out of their way to emphasise their dullness. Look at the sleeve of the album- it has less in connection with Rock’n’Roll than it does with an O-level Maths textbook cover from 1973. Whoo. You guys are having a party, obviously.
But then you listen to Out There, and for a full sixteen minutes, the “vee are scientists” approach makes perfect sense; it’s the most satisfying bit of hypnotic, looping, Krautrock pulsebeat since the hirsute days when Neu! skulked the streets of Dusseldorf. There is no personality here, but it doesn’t matter- these geeks appear to have perfected the art of impersonally good grooving. A single guitar line hovers tantalisingly over circular pattern of bass and drums for about ten minutes- and then, just as it starts to get a bit background-y, an all-conquering I Feel Love synthesiser whirr rips in and elevates this stellar piece of Balearic-Disco to celestial heights.
What a shame that Studio didn’t keep it up; like The Durutti Column before them, Studio were at their best when they kept their mouths shut. While the dizzying spirals of Out There seemed to hint at perfection without personality, the singing on the other tracks is charisma-free but introduces the horrific spectre of the Rock’n’Roll ego. The vocals are Robert Smith without the make-up or the panto-Goth hilarity. They’re just embarrassing. Face it, boys, you chose to hide behind a non-image- for christ’s sake, stay put!
The Daily Record 