If Ultra Lounge is to be critiqued, one might note the rather hefty sticker price for an offering so decidedly lite. A hundred pages could have been added without disrupting the campy tone at all. (Claudine Longet is missing, for example, and Frank Sinatra is only mentioned in passing! And what about surf instrumentals? Or Don Ho? And all those cheeseball conductors like Hugo Montenegro and Jackie Gleason -- how might one make some value judgments there? And what about a decent discography?) Jones' ability to toss around terms like "pomo" (postmodern) and the very clever "white man's blues" hints at a deeper understanding of the loungecore phenomena, but he never really addresses why so many Caucasoid young folks -- both here and over there in England -- want to frolic in the ideologically heinous music of their parents and grandparents. Nor does he delve far past the obvious when discussing how lounge affects the contemporary scenes: from Blur to Eric Matthews to trip hop. Then again, we're talking about easy listening -- "sophisticated schmaltz" that, whether you envision yourself in Paris or in Tahiti or in the living room of your ranch home reclining next to your "open plan hi-fi" with a martini, was created to keep you from doing exactly that: thinking too much.