Electrelane

Alert the pretension police, get out the Sartre Memorial Billy Clubs, load up the hogwashed paddy wagon: Electrelane's second album, The Power Out, has artsy-fartsy nightmare written all over it. On the disc, the Brighton quartet sings in Spanish, German, and French; swipes lyrics from a sonnet by Juan Boscón; takes a line from happy-go-lucky philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche; and borrows a choir to sing passages from anti-war poet Siegfried Sassoon. And yet, the British group's lurching, throbbing juggernaut of guitar, drums, and organ (cribbed from post-punky vets like the Slits, the Raincoats, and Stereolab) is so euphoric that it overcomes such grad-school proclivities. Like a forbidden love that dares speak its name, Electrelane's music is brazen and bold, risking abuse with hearty laughter.