Il Est Vilaine aren't from Brittany, but they sure are tricksters. Two outcasts refusing to eat at the same table as the tech-house scene queens, serving up three whiplash-on-the-dancefloor cuts drenched in sweaty hedonistic disco and wrapped in a battered motorcycle jacket (with a gooey post-punk-pop core for good measure). Il Est Vilaine have traded their Oberkampf stomping grounds for a sleepless weekend of Spanish groupies, discount bikinis, whiskey, and bukkake. And a creative spurt that left Lumiere Noire with a mutant of a record, the sound of rock and techno crashing through a drum kit mid-coitus.