Pitchfork

Few gestures are as reliably condescending as a Real Artist copping to pop music. In 2007, of course, this isn't a problem; not touting the aesthetic validity of, say, r&b is as gauche as it might've been 15 years ago to even consider it anything more than cheap vaudeville (before cultural studies programs enshrined cheap vaudeville). David Byrne talked doe-eyed about how neat Texas was; "Blue" Gene Tyranny actually lived there. Out of the Blue, originally from 1977 and reissued this year, never looks down its nose at pop, which actually makes it hilarious and revelatory-- Tyranny sounds like a foreign traveler who, not knowing the language properly, manages to do things with grammar and syntax a native speaker couldn't. The album's "The Next Time Might Be Your Time"-- I will spare the b.s. about how it could be a single from another planet, etc.-- is an orgy of weird ideas about what can and can't belong: a mix of light country swing, Eno-esque guitars, and peepshow sax; aloof stoner chatter like "What would the world be like when we see each other clear of all circumstance?" crammed into verse structure like bulbous taxidermy; and a long outro where everything speeds up, swirling into a twilight of poppin' bassoons and reggae stick guitar. Some might call it "proggy" until they realize, hell, it's just a tic leftover from Phil Spector's audio soap operas, remembering a time when feelings were Basic, Plenty, and Important, but not necessarily ground down to a formula or held with tongs.

[From Out of the Blue; out now on Unseen Worlds]