Just in the nick of time for summer, though a long five years since the gutter-bounce sugar rush of their debut, Brazilian party people are back with , an album that, just as its title promises, is pretty much one big, decadent, equatorial dance party. Things have shifted a bit: there's not nearly as much shlocky, hair metal guitar riffage this time out, and while there's still plenty of the band's signature, deliriously cheap-sounding baile funk beats, as well as several distinct flavors of samba, there are also traces of everything from zydeco and soca (both at once, in fact, on the inexplicably titled "Kanye") to dancehall, Afro-pop, slide guitar blues, and even hardcore punk (thanks to an appearance by Australia-via-Baltimore thrashers .) It's quite a cocktail, made even more hectic by a stacked guest list that also features , U.K. hip-hoppers , ragga/dancehall MVP (who turns up for a boisterous flip on 's "Girls Girls Girls" hook that somehow manages to include the word "fisticuffs"), and, impressively, Tropicalia godhead , whose breezily infectious "Baby Don't Deny It" marks an atypically G-rated moment for this crew. With all the helping hands on board -- production duties were handled by and 's , with assists from , , and , making this a veritable summit session of rowdy, pan-globally-inclined dance producers -- it's hard to say who, exactly, deserves credit for 's success. (At some moments it feels more like a Brazilian incarnation of project than a recognizable follow-up to .) Then again, have always been essentially pastiche artists -- or, to put it in less brainy, more fitting terms, they just cram together whatever is fun, corny, idiotic, and over the top -- and their goofy, debaucherous energy remains unmistakable. That's despite the absence of departed frontwoman , whose shoes (and/or animal-print leggings) are ably filled here by , who flips between English and Portuguese (although she should probably think of a better name). Indeed, some of the best cuts here are those without guest vocal support, like the peppy electro-samba "Pucko," with its irresistibly chirpy flutes, and the very silly "Banana Woman," whose lyrics could either be complete nonsense or utter filth -- or, more likely, both. While it's clear that a good deal more time and effort went into the making this album (which is actually even shorter than its predecessor, at just shy of a half-hour), you can rest assured that remain as deliriously, blissfully frivolous as ever. ~ K. Ross Hoffman