Some records arrive like meteors, burning briefly and leaving only a scar in the dust. "Feuer Lust Licht", instead, behaves more like a prism: catch it from one angle and you’ll hear Kraftwerk humming through vocoders; tilt it another way and suddenly you’re in a Berlin side street where acid lines crawl lazily across cracked asphalt.

The trio behind this odd creature - Hendrik “Henne” Vaak (co-founder of the electronic music duo Sender Berlin, who forged many awesome releases for Tresor Records), Sven Elmlund, and Greek DJ-vocalist Até (Nina Kotini) - aren’t interested in categories. They slip between them with the same ease you’d change subway lines: trip hop, dark wave, acid techno, even hip-hop’s shadow appears here. One minute Anne Clark’s ghost is declaiming against a wall of synths ("Shadow on the Wall"), the next you’re propelled into space on the battered wings of a 303 ("Reaction 303").

The title track makes its intent clear with its mantra - “Do it again… Lass es nochmal probieren”. It’s both a demand and a philosophy: repetition not as monotony, but as method, as ritual, as insistence that something new will eventually emerge if you keep trying. Até’s vocals - half warm embrace, half android command - thread it all together, keeping the record from collapsing under its own multiplicity.

There’s humor here too. "Mono Machine" is a Kraftwerk cosplay so affectionate it almost feels like a thank-you letter to Ralf Hütter. "Destination" turns into technoid hip-hop, like Dre’s MPC being stolen and rewired by a Berlin basement tinkerer. Even in its more melancholic passages ("First Touch", "What’s Next"), there’s a playfulness, as if the trio are constantly winking at each other from behind the machines.

Is it cohesive? Oddly, yes. Despite the wide stylistic leaps, there’s a red thread woven through - the curiosity of people who’ve been tinkering with electronic music since the ’90s and refuse to let go of that childlike sense of wonder. "Feuer Lust Licht" is an album that asks you to listen several times, not because it’s impenetrable, but because each pass uncovers another mischievous detail.

It’s not a meteor, then. It’s a kaleidoscope: fragile, colorful, and endlessly reconfigurable, provided you’re willing to turn it over in your hands again and again.