I was elected to interview Air not because I was a fan or because I had extensive knowledge of the French ambient pop duo, but because I had smallish wrists.

Air’s people only had one interview wristband, and whoever’s small, pathetic wrists would squeeze into it was the victor. It was like Excalibur, only instead of glory, it sort of implied I was a pussy.

And because it exchanged hands of who knows how many other sniveling 'lil journalists that day, the security guard thought that I had either found or stolen it.

My knowledge of Air was minimal at best, and at worst downright pathetic. I had a vague knowledge of the "Sexy Boy" video, and remembered songs here and there. What was I to ask?

"Do you think Sophia Coppola is as overrated as I do?"

It didn’t help that I had enough alcohol in me that my blood could have been used as a disinfectant.

When I finally did get in, I had to wait for a moment.

Jean-Benoît Dunckel had wandered off from his trailer, not unlike a child.

Their manager found him and attempted, possibly in vain, to explain Creem’s legacy.

"Lester Bangs," he said. "Great American rock 'n' roll magazine." Perry Farrell stood there and watched.

We finally made it into their trailer, where they wanted to be the whole time to escape the heat.

The cool, relaxed setting matched their personas, and all worries drifted away.

Dunckel and Nicolas Godin are two quiet, laid back cats (as much so as their grooves) who somewhat exude the vintage Playboy persona, which was befitting, as they had vintage Playboys on board. They like real breasts.

In addition, they also like real drums.

"A band with a good drummer is a good band," said Dunckel in a thick accent that was so quiet I could barely hear him.

When I attempted to get commentary from them on the lack of real drumming  in most techno (and yes, I’m aware Air’s rocked synthetic drums before), they didn’t have much of a response. Asking them about whether or not they felt more of a connection to Burt Bacharach than Kraftwerk, they said they were influenced by "everything," and were more into talking about BRMC (whom they were disappointed because they couldn’t see, because the two bands played simultaneously that evening) and Queens of the Stone Age than any possible root to their own work.

Aside from that mild letdown, the only other complaint they had was that they could only play for an hour.

The members of Air are almost cliché Frenchman, and on their latest, Talkie Walkie, the band has to a degree dropped the haunting experimental flava and gone back to a more "pop" sound, and what word is synonymous with pop?

Love.

Synths and strings, plucky guitars, vocoders, a mid-tempo pace, and the boys themselves rocking the mics, waxing on love, oh love.

 "When  we did Talkie Walkie, we channeled our external work… we did some music for a ballet, and some underground projects… we had some things to tell," said Dunkel, explaining that some of those things go out to their baby’s mamas.

It’s perfect pop bliss, which matches the mood that evening when the group, accompanied by a handful of musicians take the laser crowded stage, and even their old numbers 'Playground Love' and 'Kelly Watch The Stars' provide an excellent soundtrack to the final few hours of the day, and with more guitar oriented ditties, they sound somewhat of an indie twee folk outfit.

The fact is, in addition to loving love, Dunkel and Godin love everything, including music. Disco, pop, garage stomp, obscure Italian soundtracks, and because their love is limitless there is a good possibility the band’s potential could be limitless.