"You can't help liking him... whether you hear him on the radio, see him on stage or walking down the street. He's P.P. Roy, the personality-endowed Sussex musician, who now comes into the nation's homes and hearts through Rephlex's highly successful record label."

So begins a three-paragraph introduction to P.P. Roy in the album's liner notes, which go on to explain that he is an "ex-caretaker," an "amateur trampolinist," and man of great "warmth" and "charm." This is a lot to live up to; in saying how likable and, presumably, quirky he is, P.P. Roy could be setting his listeners up for a big disappointment. Even the ellipsis in the album's title speaks of insatiable anticipation.

Because he's on Aphex Twin's Rephlex Record label, Roy (aka David Nicholls) is yet another one of these "File under: Braindance" artists. But beware! You Can't Help Liking... isn't the staggering ride offered by other Rephlex artists like Ovuca or Bodenstandig 2000. It's more like an odd, sensual frolic.

You've heard the album's obligatory "Introduction" before. A little scratching, women chanting, "It's a new one, a new one!" as if from a 1970s television commercial, and a sample of a stiff, '50s-era man saying, "Ready? The letter P." David Nicholls manipulates this, of course, to sound like "P.P.," after which a computer blurts, "Roy." And there you have it. I'm so glad we've been formally introduced.

After some other banal quotes, the intro ends with a man saying, "Here are some instrumental and other sounds that you seldom hear introduced." This is a somewhat accurate, yet deceiving description of the album. Like Land of the Loops' Alan Sutherland, David Nicholls has a knack for finding odd sounds and samples that haven't been beaten to death by electronic and hip-hop artists. However, he's found a considerably smaller amount than Sutherland, and as a result, his songs are more repetitive and sonically shallower than those of Land of the Loops.

"Love Can Turn Around," for instance, offers quavering flutes stolen from some psychedelic pastoral landscape. But the rest of the song involves a man saying, "Yes," a woman saying, "I love you," some "Space Invaders" gunfire, a shifty drumbeat, and a tiring bassline. This is a song you sleep to. And "Back to '78," with its addictive big-band sample, might be more accurately titled "Back to '28" were it not pinned down by a boring beat and a wavering, DJ Spooky-esque sound that rises into oblivion.

I'm convinced that Rephlex has a clause in its contract that reads, "Must have at least one song dependent upon bleeps that one might hear in dated game systems such as Atari and Nintendo." For good measure, P.P. Roy has two. But on "Radio Too," he also tries his hand at a real song. Over a rhythmic guitar and whining radio, a pitch-distorted man sings, "I'm tuning the radio/ To my favorite song." It's catchy, but clocking in at just over a minute, it's a fleeting interregnum.

P.P. Roy is at his best when he sits upon his La-Z-Boy and decides to groove. Coming in somewhere between David Holmes and Bentley Rhythm Ace-- although not quite as good as either-- David Nicholls lays down infectious piano bars, swelling orchestras, trombone bursts, and strangely compelling mambo beats. But when he indulges in clichéd orgasmic-woman samples, it doesn't take long for patience to wear thin.

With an album that presents itself with this level of confidence, it should be easy for me to make a sound judgment for one side or the other. Either: "I really can't help liking... P.P. Roy!" Or: "No, really, I find it quite easy to dislike... P.P. Roy." But both would be inaccurate conclusions. In fact, I can't help feeling neutral about... P.P. Roy.

-Ryan Kearney