2. Kiss And Swallow. A hip-twitching phantom of a #1 dancefloor hit in an alternative universe hangovered on nootropics. The chord progression shown in the lexicon next to "sinister".

5. Simple Girl*. Gently bounce and bleep your way under the sheets. And stay there, quite happily alone, for mere 4'42", which your beautiful and unique snowflake of a soul would gladly mistake for eternity. A jam session with a Roland 303? Check. Velvety samplers set to violate? Yep. Windowlickers allowed? Absolutely.

7. Your Joy Is My Low. Looped intro from Fly on the Windscreen skillfully drives you (gently, yet well above the speed limit) into Pleasureville: headlights off, you can see the evening stars. Other cars are coming too, shiny cars, muscle cars, driven by nude girls in black latex gloves, whose Sony MiniDiscs are all on 1-track repeat. Appendages twitch accordingly.

8. I Like Pretending. A faux-piano hyper-ballad that can only be properly enjoyed inside an impenetrable armour of a pressure suit on your one-way trip to the bottom of the ocean with just enough oxygen to postpone thinking about free-floating steel coffins for the remainder of the two-minute warning. Official selection for the end credits for the world.

9. You Stick It In Me "...then go to her", chants the shiny Chris Cunningham's android sex slave in a British accent against a bass loop multilayered with synthetic bleeps, and it actually does feel like a betrayal when Corner's sneaky falsetto kicks in. A geek fightsong, an irritating, fading afterimage of that surprisingly satisfying masturbation fantasy concocted out of a single smile and not much else. Moving, if you know how.

11. Missile. Sentimental pop electrovaganza with teeth. Think bass-driven Ghost versus some proper funky synths, Martin L. Gore and Client forced at gunpoint to rewrite Enjoy the Silence against a two-digit BPM so that, this time, it actually is catchy. Next thing you know, the chorus kicks in: a honey-coated, vocodered piece of black candy, fuelled by sheer analogue joy. Video shoot in your head slated for now, forever. Hauntresses wanted.

*IAMX told me this record would make you love again.