Hans-Peter Lindstrøm’s oeuvre, which includes the perfectly titled EP There’s a Drink in My Room and I Need a Hot Lady, makes it clear that the Norwegian electronica kingpin has talent to spare beyond his knack for burn-baby-burn fire-marshal bait. Early dance tracks like “Mighty Girl” and “I Feel Space” are outsize body-shockers laced with manic keyboards, electrified hand claps, and disco beats so large they might as well wear white polyester leisure suits. They’re infectiously disposable, slinky and seductive come-ons that even jilted dance-floor lovers will love well after their ephemeral pleasures fade. But dance-floor types who get the blues from IDM will need to pop a Paxil while listening to Where You Go I Go Too, which is smarty-pants all the way. Gone is the analog-ish slap and tickle of earlier tracks such as “Thermometer Dropping” and “Music (In My Mind),” thick slabs of cerebral funk that conjure Herbie Hancock and Talking Heads, respectively. Also MIA is the joyful industrial noise that Lindstrøm threaded through deft remixes of both LCD Soundsystem (an undulating “Tribulations”) and Franz Ferdinand (a liquified “I’m Your Villain”). In their place is a slick, three-track CD that—despite cover art that casts the man as a dead ringer for Scooby Doo’s Shaggy—displays little of Lindstrøm’s disarming goofball charm. Unless, that is, a grandstanding riff lifted from late-period Led Zeppelin counts. The percolating “Grand Ideas,” the new disc’s finest moment, borrows its best bit from “Carouselambra,” the swirling, synth-drenched foot-stomper from In Through the Out Door—an album that, if Lindstrøm’s prog-rock past is more than music-press rumor, the guy probably knows by heart. On “The Long Way Home,” severe, tango-cadenced keyboard lines vie with computerized, warp-speed percussion and a drumbeat that—during the disc’s most magisterial moment—Lindstrøm drops out of the mix entirely, dialing it back up just in time to nail the melodrama of the track’s first five minutes to the “Do the Hustle!” shuffle of its final 10. All of this could be an excellent IDM in-joke: Finding the brainy in the banal (and luxuriating in the pleasures of both) has long been Lindstrøm’s linchpin. On “The Long Way Home,” though, the execution isn’t up to the concept, with glossy, freeze-dried production tainting the tune with soundtrack anonymity. That’s not the case on the disc’s title track, which lights a slow-burning fuse with ethereal keyboards, digitized backward riffing, and staccato guitar atmospherics that nod toward Pink Floyd’s “Run Like Hell.” When a ticking beat finally shows up to leaven the spaced-out moodiness of it all, you’ll likely breathe a sigh of relief. But at nearly half an hour long, the track—like the rest of the album—is simultaneously way too much and not quite enough.