So, David Crosby is the father of Melissa Etheridge's baby. Millions of Americans stopped eating lunch when that news hit. After all, Crosby isn't exactly the ideal sperm donor. He's bald, a reformed coke/heroin addict, overweight, friends with Graham Nash and Neil Young, not pretty, and really old. The guy is as pure as Bayonne. (Personally, I'd have gone with Pete Sampras or Paul McCartney.)

This child will live its life under the constant observation of secondary media. And odds are, the kid will eventually end up in music (give it 15 years or so). Now, there's a pretty good chance, based on his genealogy, that Junior's rock will sound like AM/FM. Okay, yeah, so that's in no way a great endorsement for this album, but hear me out.

After Junior goes through that inevitable punk phase-- which will result from the emotional turmoil of growing up as celebrity offspring, making headlines as an "Access Hollywood" lens target, and teenagers' innate reflexes to rebel against their parents-- he'll settle down and realize that his dad had it going on in the 1960s. All of these accumulated influences and tastes might meringue up into the frothy multi-track folk of Audiot.

There's a Byrdsian, tambourine-slapping sincerity throughout Audiot. Brian Sokel, the brain of AM/FM, normally punches timecards as the guitarist for dub-punk Clash revivalists Franklin. Traces of Franklin's relaxed, spread guitar effects trickle into AM/FM, like the scribbling palm-muted guitar and above-the-fret plucking under the acoustics in "The Death They Claim."

Sokel's attention to detail buries subtle perks throughout the EP. Organs, lap steel, tambourines, backwards effects, treated vocals, tin whistle, and onion layers of guitars blend together into a nice, if not somewhat irresolute, foam. But AM/FM's quest for the "nice" leaves them short of pertinence. Advice: highlight those backward swirls, let the guitar solos rip forth from obnoxious red levels, let the guitars hide under the organ (not vice versa), raise your voice above a sighing croon.

These are typical shortcomings on a solo debut, but Sokel shows enough audiophilic retentiveness to promise greater things. And at EP length, Audiot makes a welcome skip through suburban fields. Even the design is fresh and shows some effort outside of an Adobe program. Yet oddly, every photograph is taken with high overhead light, turning Sokel's eyes into gaping black sockets. Throughout the liner notes, not a single eye can be seen. This small shortcoming reflects the songwriting. Brian, let us look into your eyes!

-Brent DiCrescenzo