Stereolab - Emperor Tomato Ketchup (Expanded Edition) (3LP)

Emperor Tomato Ketchup sits at that sweet spot where Stereolab’s cool-headed experiments lock into real pop pleasure. The original album landed in 1996 through Duophonic, with a U.S. release via Elektra, and the 2019 Expanded Edition gives it the kind of careful refresh that makes you hear old favorites with new ears. It’s a remaster that doesn’t sand away the grit or the motorik pulse. It opens things up. You can feel the low end breathe on the grooves and pick out the spidery guitar filigree that used to hide behind the organ haze.

The title nods to Shūji Terayama’s 1971 film, and that oddball reference suits the band’s sensibility. They never chased trends. They sculpted them. Tim Gane’s looping guitar figures and analog synths, Lætitia Sadier’s airy delivery, Mary Hansen’s harmonies that glow like neon, Andy Ramsay’s unflappable drums that keep the hypnotic engine humming. The Chicago connection mattered, too. John McEntire helped shape the sessions, and you can hear that precise, pointillist approach to rhythm and texture that Chicago post-rock was nailing in the mid-90s.

Drop the needle on Metronomic Underground and you get the whole thesis in seven minutes. That bassline advances like a short train. Drums tick at a steady clip. Lines stack and fold until a simple groove starts to feel architectural. Then the record turns and shows its other face. Cybele’s Reverie, sung in French, floats in on a stately string figure and clockwork percussion. It’s baroque and playful at once. The Noise of Carpet roughs things up with fuzz and stomp, the closest the album gets to a tantrum. Les Yper-Sound sits right between, a motorik strut with keyboard bleeps flickering like traffic lights.

What the Expanded Edition adds, beyond the improved sonics, is a second window into the workshop. Demos and outtakes let you hear how these machines were assembled. Stripped versions of Cybele’s Reverie and Metronomic Underground reveal that the arrangements weren’t accidents. The band knew exactly how little or how much to play. It’s not a myth that Stereolab built songs from repeated cells. The demos underscore how those cells shift in small ways that keep your brain locked in while your feet keep time.

This album’s reputation as their breakthrough isn’t hype. Critics at the time and since have treated it as a landmark, the moment Stereolab pulled together their crate-digger love of krautrock, lounge, bossa hints, and minimalism into something both cerebral and inviting. You can hear the lineage to later indie and electronic records that found warmth in repetition. Spin Percolator or Spark Plug and it’s all there. Sharp percussion, polite distortion, a rhythm section that refuses to panic.

It’s also a reminder of Mary Hansen’s presence. Her voice threads through these songs with a brightness that makes the drones feel human. On Anonymous Collective, the closing track, those harmonies tumble against a swirling arrangement that suggests the band could have kept adding layers forever and still left air for the melody.

For those who care about the format, the Emperor Tomato Ketchup vinyl in its Expanded Edition is the way to live with this record. The dynamic range pays off on a good system. The demos work as late-night side listens. And if you collect Stereolab vinyl, this sits neatly with the 2019 reissues, which were handled with the same archival care across the board. It’s the sort of title you recommend when someone asks where to start with Stereolab albums on vinyl and you want them to fall hard.

I’ve seen people discover this in a Melbourne record store and never look back. The band inspires that kind of loyalty. If you’re browsing for a copy and wondering whether to upgrade, do it. The Expanded Edition feels like a conversation between the finished classic and the sketches that got it there. If you like to buy Stereolab records online, keep an eye out for the 2019 pressings. They’re easy to spot and worth the reach. And if you’re new to the band, this is a safe bet with a high ceiling. Emperor Tomato Ketchup vinyl turns the room into a private museum of good taste, but it never feels like homework. It just moves.