It opens up with "Don't Fucking Tell Me What to Do" and "Fembot," two pieces of dystopian pop with a slightly abrasive edge. From the repetitive, almost tedious lyrics of the former to the harsher synth lines of the latter, there is something strangely cold about them—as if Robyn was trying a bit too hard to animate said fembot. It's an introduction which is all the more puzzling when you listen to the two straightforwardly heartfelt ballads that close Body Talk ("Hang With Me" and "Jag Vet En Dejlig Rosa"): the brusque passage from one Robyn to the other suggests an artist not fully at ease yet with her schizophrenic pop persona.
Thankfully, what's in the middle is much more satisfying. "Dancing on My Own" is, by far, the best thing Robyn has ever done in its squashing of bittersweet languishing love and the cathartic function of dancing to a disco-pop beat. "Dancehall Queen," produced with Diplo, has an immediate air of reggae-lite joviality, while the Royksopp-helped "None of Them" comes across as a darker companion to last year's "The Girl and the Robot." That said, just three truly distinctive tracks out of a 30-minute long album is stretching things a little thin, isn't it? With any luck, the forthcoming parts of the series will help put everything in perspective. For now, Body Talk Pt. One is a lukewarm comeback.