(Because Music) The former Air member’s second solo album is a paean to various architects the veers between elegant and insipid
![Nicolas Godin: Concrete and Glass review](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/ed3e2c4f5fa3f33a00b95b85a4254fcce61cebe4/0_236_7087_4252/master/7087.jpg?width=1200&height=630&quality=85&auto=format&fit=crop&overlay-align=bottom%2Cleft&overlay-width=100p&overlay-base64=L2ltZy9zdGF0aWMvb3ZlcmxheXMvdGctcmV2aWV3LTMucG5n&enable=upscale&s=71a13be787ded8cb7006e40bc97e129a)
It’s hard to credit now how revolutionary Air’s first album, Moon Safari, sounded in 1998 – a soufflé of a record so light and fluffy it was irresistible. Nicolas Godin and Jean-Benoît Dunckel had the same retro-futurist bent as Broadcast, but they also had a sweet tooth for bubblegum to go with their gauzy electronica. The range of musical reference has broadened since then, but Concrete and Glass has a familiar wooziness about it.
Where Godin’s first record, Contrepoint, was inspired by Bach – not that you’d know – this one is the soundtrack to a series of site-specific installations paying tribute to various architects.