Hey there you looking o so blue, the dance floor's that-a-way, man, and, man, since the last time they're dared deign to deliver a longplayer, that's where The Rapture have been hanging. Or where they've been hung, perhaps, hanging the DJs playing the gear they've styled up since they (the rock band) ditch'd the white-noise and woe of their eyeliner'd Californian days/daze to dress up in the most rockist haircuts, cowbells tonking and beats beating and hearts all fluttering like a butterfly's wings as we heard that "House of Jealous Lovers" kicking out jams over and again. Of course, in between that lost-in-all-this-new-rock-hype last longplayer 1999's short, sharp, shrill, noisy, neo-new/no-waveist Mirror (which came replete with banging Vinyl-Communications-styled remix from a youthful pre-T6-empire Kid606, and an early version of "Olio" much more Casiotonic than that which has greet'd DJs of recent) and this latest longplayer, there have been bits and pieces that've been leading up to the singles from this disc that'd moisten pants o'er the last year or so. To point: their Sub Pop action, Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks, warmed them up a little to working with friendly fidelity and non-spasticky rhythms, and, then, their Insound tour-support disc featured cuts cut in rough form that'd form the blueprint for so much of Echoes. Of course, this gear was forgotten when the Underdog sold London on the merits of "House of Jealous Lovers" via his Output imprint. By then The Rapture were a rock band going more hipster new-wave than hateful no-wave, and, more importantly, a rock band based, now, in New York City. Meaning they actually had less chance of escaping hype than they did of copping it. All this column-inching action has made it seem like the wait for Echoes has been interminable; and, well, when the opening ready-for-beatmixing bars from said "House" hit start to poke through the staged crowd screams from this longplayer's previous number, just as the disc is hitting its stride, well, you realize how many times you've heard this b'fore, compared to the brand-new bits stitched in amongst such sound. Of course, maybe you've never head it b'fore. If so, I have no idea what to say to you. So maybe go read something else. But, uh, now, uh: There are bits here that, still, fall in between the tracks of the Onto the Tracks stuff and the Mirror stuff and the DFA stuff and stuff. Like "Infatuation," a slice of grandiose balladry whose acoustic guitars and fey vocals and looming mood and spun shadows hark up Echo & the Bunnymen or Pornography-type Cure or something; or, then, "Open Up Your Heart," in which Luke Jenner bets a tenner he can break your lady's heart, fronting in passionate fashion out front of misty/distant piano-balladic tribute to jukebox devotionals of yore. Meaning that kitting out The Rapture as being just one thing disco-punk upstarts, upwardly-mobile scenester vets, a haircut band, floor-filling fashionista stylists, the best rock band of this latest batch of rock bands, whatever isn't the wisest move, my friend.