Jacques Lambert, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, zooms soundlessly into the house on his hydrogen-powered scooter, only to slam the door behind him. "What's all that racket?" his father Philippe grouses (in French, no less). Jacques, ignoring him, anxiously unhooks the ultrasonic dog-repellent device from around his neck, tossing it on the sofa and leaping into place in front of his Cray laptop supercomputer. "Y'know, there are chores to be done around here, buttons to be pushed, trash to be incinerated..."

"Awww, dad, I was just gonna lay down a few tracks first, it'll only take a minute or two," says Jacques. He punches a few keys and a complex drum loop begins pounding from the computer's speakers. With a few mouse-clicks, a synthline spreads atop the rhythm. Jacques touches the screen and a bassline oozes out.

"You kids today," grumbles Philippe. "You make it look so easy. Back at the turn of the century--"

"Hey, pops, stop playin' me, man," Jacques says. "You never did anything like this when you were a kid." He absently double-clicks on the Vocal Sample Generator, and the computer rasps (in a remarkable Al Pacino impersonation), "I'm gonna suck your mom's dick!" Jacques giggles.

"Oh, really?" says Philippe, reaching for a CD from the rack on the wall. He pops it into the stereo, and looped, unintelligible vocal chatter starts playing over a steady, resonant, distant beat. Suddenly, an alarm goes off, and it sounds like the mike has been hijacked by a division of coked-up Balinese monkey-chanters.

"What the fuck?" Jacques stammers as the song ends in a subdued, ringing percussion section. "Did you do that, dad?"

"Yup, though I was going by the name Monstre at the time. This was way before the paraplegic separatists and the giant mutant dachshunds started terrorizing Montreal..."

"Ah," Jacques nods in recognition.

"... back when there weren't any of these fancy machines, we'd just scream into microphones and fuck around with the sounds that came out."

"Like this?" Jacques asks, referring to the manic yelps cycling through the second track, "Sound/Silence." "Man, what were you on?" he inquires as a wave of noise crashes over the song.

"Ever hear the Boredoms, son?" Philippe asks. Jacques shakes his head. "Damn shame. Well, we were 'high' on the Boredoms, I suppose, just like you kids today get high on your "drums n' acid" or your "five-step" or whatever you listen to today. They weren't exactly electronic, but I guess Monstre can't quite be described that way, either."

"But this one is kinda groovy," says Jacques. "I like that ascending melody that xylophone-y thing and the vocals carry, and those elastic noises, and that hard metallic percussion. They go together really well, no? But where did you record all this stuff, in a kitchen cabinet?"

"Damned if I know. You were right, son, we did a lot of drugs back in those days. I didn't know where I was half of the time. And you don't have to patronize me, I know this stuff is probably way before your time."

"No way, Dad. Those vocals kind of grate on me sometimes but they can be really nice, too. Like on this really quiet, downbeat one, "Sugar Rainbow"-- that funky cut-and-pasted nonsense lullaby and the deep-throated exhales you use as percussion are kind of soothing, in a weird way, along with that ambient background. And even when they're on the harder side, the vocals often work well with the always-gentle instrumentation, like on the next track where the distorted beatboxing and the nasal chants give those airy arpeggios a beat."

"Really? Even the Chipmunk sing-song stuff on 'Twinkle?'"

"Chipmunk? Umm... yeah, with those meandering chimes and glitchy noises in the background-- they're oddly pretty."

"Good. I spent three hours sucking helium in the back of a supermarket trying to get that right. Or was it nitrous...?"

"Really, Dad, I like it. I mean, even with all my fancy computers I would never have thought of using a lot of these sounds that you use, let alone putting them together in these combinations. Maybe they did make things better in those lo-fi old days. I like all these lip-buzzes and mumbles at the end of "Candyland." I mean, maybe some of the songs could use more of a rhythmic underpinning, like the one you gave "Smile," and sometimes it seems like the songs just wander around without getting anywhere, and sometimes the album seems to repeat the same sounds a little too much, but..."

"But you like it?"

Jacques nods, a tear streaming down his face. "Oh son!" Philippe cries, embracing Jacques touchingly as the thousand-and-one blissed-out vocal layers of "Little Stars" drone around them.

"Oooh, and I like that loud snuffling noise, too," sobs Jacques.

"Wait, snuffling noise? There's no... Ack! Giant dachshunds!"

The earth shakes under their feet. "They must have been attracted by that squeak toy sample in "Smile!" Jacques cries.

The roof suddenly crumples. Father and son dive behind the sofa as their home is ripped opened like a can of Pringles. A huge snout descends, eyes peering down at them from fifty feet.

"Hey, relax, mon ami," booms the dog's voice. "I just wanted to have a listen to your music."

And they all live happily ever after.

-Brendan Reid