Lately I'm most taken by Portland's Chromatics, a sexily narcotized trio whose recently released Night Drive (Italians Do It Better) pulses with a lurid, provocatively threatening allure matching that of their three After Dark contributions. Produced and largely orchestrated by Glass Candy guitarist Johnny Jewel - whose synth work on the album is nothing short of mesmerizing - Night Drive, as wonderful as it is, doesn't quite feel right in the daylight. Once again, the Italians Do It Better folks hit it right on the head: this is late-night mood music, and the mood ain't exactly relaxed 'n' pretty.

Personally, I envision these songs as more of a chronicle of a 3 a.m. hurried jaunt home on foot, but the driving metaphor works for me, too: imagine rolling down troubled, stained streets, staring out at the riff-raff stumbling around aimlessly. Brawling hookers, one-eyed dealers, and indecent-exposure specialists…and you, cruising on by with doors locked, hoping to time things just right so you don't end up having to stop at any red lights in this godforsaken hellhole. Can't you just see it? Smell the urine on the pavement yet?

But on to better sensory input - ah, Ruth Radelet, siren of the after-hours demise, you clever robo-temptress, you! As the voice of Chromatics, Radelet makes for a disarming ambassador for urban violence and downtown decay, floating out codeine murmurs and emotionally detached coos and croons in a coolly untroubled timbre despite the sordid proceedings unfolding around her. A modern update of Nico, perhaps, only instead of coming across as forbiddingly icy like the German death-chanteuse, she tantalizes with a seductive, fevered unavailability. Sure, Radelet sighs and moans in spots, but she never ever breaks a sweat. Something to do with casting off one's humanity, perhaps? I mean this in the best possible way, of course. These are vocals of androids' dreams, after all, and sometimes, to crib from Philip K. Dick, androids dream not of electric sheep but hot disheveled club chicks who drive home late at night, untouchable.

Guitarist Adam Miller brings a distinctive post-punk/new wave hue to these songs, at times evoking early period Cure with moodily melodic Robert Smith textures. Much of his work is a subtle backdrop for Radelet's ethereal billows and the frequently ominous keyboard pulses and drones that dominate the album, but there are moments in which he takes a bolder, more obvious role in providing reasons to brood and dread.

Currently my favorite track, "Healer" benefits from storm-brewing guitar-work which would fit in nicely with the Cure's Seventeen Seconds/ Faith/ Pornography (Elektra) gray-period heyday. Radelet coos tauntingly about "lampshades doused in gasoline," while Miller clarifies the violence hinted by the lyrics - titillating! Troubling! Both! Miller also casts a few spells on "I Want Your Love," a slow-throbbing siren's call anchored by a hypnotic, jagged guitar line. As the mirrorball spins in unsettling orbits, Radelet sighs the title as a cruel come-on and a nagging horror-movie synth riff drones away in a portent of inevitable demise. Still, there's an intriguing keyboard melody that twinkles above it all now and then, dangling just a little smidge of hope for the poor victim. Sucker! Aw, come on - you know this isn't going to end well.

I've saved Jewel's keyboards and programming for last, as it is his squeals, stabs, and sparkles that give Night Drive its deliciously dangerous disco-noir sheen. Forsaking the frantic synth twists and cartwheels associated with disco in order to dress these songs in a more cinematic get-up, Jewel focuses on simple but effective - and affecting - plodding keyboard patterns, thus creating the impression of approaching menace. The imminent threats are always slow and purposeful in their advance, however: much of the album will send horror-flick fans into reveries of Michael Myers's slow, steady creep, thanks to the use of spot-on late '70s/early '80s soundtrack motifs employed by John Carpenter most mightily in his score for Halloween. Ominous rumbles, insistent suspended notes, and angry synth squelches - the latter frequently pushed to the background, helping to foster the sneaking feeling of dread and doom - comprise the basics of Jewel's disturbing language, and they work spine-tingling wonders with Radelet's eerie sense of detachment.

Echoes of early Giorgio Moroder - particularly his Midnight Express score - also drift in and out, as does a tribute or two to Goblin, the Italian masters of teeth-chattering melodrama most closely associated with Dario Argento's stylish epics of psychic violence. Look no further than the stalker-instrumental "The Killing Spree," with its disconcertingly baroque twinkling introduction that could only be made more eerie with the addition of persistent footsteps. Another instrumental, "Let's Make This a Moment to Remember," will surely stir ripples of nostalgia from film-geeks far and wide; its steady synth throb and occasional piano glimmers bring to mind scenes of bad-ass pimply teens decked out in Jordache jeans, going out for a joyride before meeting their sad demise.

Then, of course, there's the cover song - and what a cover it is! Kate Bush's "Running up that Hill" is given a gloriously weary makeover, abandoning the more primal rhythms of the original and instead delivering the tale of longing over a subtle, nearly metronomic beat. Miller's intricate guitar patterns zig and zag intriguingly around Jewel's faithful-to-the-original synth warbles, while Radelet reins in Bush's world-on-fire emphasis, opting for a more medicated interpretation of the lyrics. The results are simply stunning - a highlight, to be sure, and a must-hear for fans of the original.

Sadly, Night Drive is still unrepresented by any video clippage, so how about feasting your eyes on "In the City," from the After Dark compilation? Ah, it's 1979 all over again.