Rock critics are scared of instrumental albums -- scared because they can’t defer to the lyrics; scared because they can’t point out the similarities to the vocalists of the bands they actually like; scared because deep down they don’t know shit about inverted fifths and the dreaded mixolydian mode. On their unquestionably brilliant Classics, Ratatat obliterate this fear, igniting a primal urge in the listener to connect with the music on an instinctual level that renders context and pretext not just useless, but inadequate. This is music to be heard, music to be lived in, music to absorb.

It doesn’t take long to see why Classics commands such authority. Songs like “Lex,” “Loud Pipes” and “Tropicana” all drip with effortless cool. The patented sound from the group’s debut is still in place -- twin guitar leads soaring atop fizzy, hip-hop beats – but Ratatat has expanded their brushstrokes into every corner of the painting so that each listen yields new, greater rewards.

Although the title for Classics originated as a joke, Stroud and Mast may have subconsciously felt a need to live up to it. In a way, it was a brilliant move on their part. Instrumental bands tend to speak through their song and album titles, and titles like that tend to get people talking. Even the song titles are evocative. “Wildcat,” the album’s most immediately appealing track, not only features a recurring sample of a howl, but the loping gait of the guitar leads suggests the grace of a cat.

But wait. See how I’ve gotten fixated on the titles? That’s what us critics do. See, I told you.