2020 repress. Justice's highly-acclaimed debut album from 2007. French-only vinyl version, in deluxe gatefold sleeve. Retreating to their underground post-nuclear shelter/studio, French duo Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay worked on their first album as if their lives depended on it. The result is a mind-fuck of an album that proves that Justice's unique talent is to be found where least expected. Take for example "Let There Be Light" and its strident, angry electro, driven by a jabbing bassline; "D.A.N.C.E," a pure piece of vicious house sung innocently by a choir of children; "Newjack," a funky parody of the opulent times of the French Touch; "Phantom," taking over where "Waters Of Nazareth" left off to drift towards "Phantom Pt. II" and its head-swirling disco violins; "Valentine," an erotic, melancholic nursery rhyme, like a tribute to Vladimir Cosma and "Tthhee Ppaarrttyy," a pure electro-funk track where the sexy Uffie plays more than ever the cheeky Lolita. Justice have thrown established rules out the window (the notion of good and bad taste, the thin line between underground and pop music, the pigeon hole labeling between rock and electro, etc.) with a fantastic talent for synthesizing and mixing their influences with total candor, be it the cosmic disco of Larry Levan or Vladimir Cosma's panty-wetting romantics, Camel's prog rock or the anxious theme of Goblin for Dario Argento, to the flashy funk of the Brothers Johnson or "ABC" by the Jackson 5. Cross isn't a collection of random dancefloor singles. Cross is for listening at home or in clubs. Cross is a link between pop at its purest and experimental music. Cross brings together hardcore elements and cheese. Cross makes the Goths link arms with the rave kids. A generational manifest, ideally positioned on the side of the dancefloor, Cross, insolent with youth, is a testimony that the French electro scene is healthier than ever.