Okay, well, what the hell do you expect from a band boasting the almighty Kramer as a member? A collection of sonatas influenced by Bach and Handel? I think not. The guy's a musical misfit, as you may know, while also being a loony visionary of sorts with a long legacy of indie street- cred. In Bongwater, he turned obnoxious, noisy, third- rate musical comedy into obnoxious, noisy, third- rate musical comedy that was cool to like (and even cooler to own). As a producer, he honed Galaxie 500's sound to the point that they resembled... um, Galaxie 500. He also groomed corpulent, retarded maniac Daniel Johnston for alternative cult- stardom.

Brainville's cast of goof- off musicans is rounded out a founding member of Soft Machine that, in an act of sheer nominal rebelliousness, spells his name Daevid instead of using the tired, conventional Biblical spelling. And there's a dude named Pip, after Dickens' young hero in "Great Expectations," with a surname taken from a popular Jim Nabors TV character named Gomer. I'm not sure who plays which instrument, exactly. But then again, this is a Shimmy-Disc product, and it doesn't really matter who plays what. As long as the instruments in question are played with indifference and with some degree of incompetence, Kramer's a happy guy.

Brainville's The Children's Crusade is a pretty standard Shimmy-Disc release: too long-ish, repetitive white- noise tangents- of- tangents that occasionally and accidentally render some interesting moments. But mostly, after the first minute or so of each song, you just feel like listening to Johnny Cash, or maybe a military march.

This is, however, the kind of throwaway music that undoubtedly has its function in society. Say you're planning a hostile vegan dinner party to impress your neighborhood hipster pals-- all of whom dress and act like the cast of "That 70's Show." In a case such as this, it's mighty nice to have stuff like this Brainville record to throw on. Everybody will be, at first, delightfully amused by the idea of this noisy, pointless noodling. They'll tap their feet to the stuttering, nervous rhythms and nod their heads in psuedo- enjoyment of the album's miasmic free- form glacial flow.

Inevitably, though, unless your dinner guests consist of genuinely mentally- disturbed sonic sadists and musical masochists, agitation will set in on a few different physical and mental levels: the guests' discomfort will manifest itself in everything from silverware dropping to the floor, to slight facial twitches, to uncontrollable lip- biting. And then finally, one poor frustrated soul will rise from the dinner of seaweed and soy- steak, knock over his chair, bang his fist on the table and scream, "Oh fuck! What is this shit, man?! Don'cha have any freakin' Abba? Or like, the 'Pulp Fiction' soundtrack?! Hire a motherfucking DJ for your future dinner parties, y'dick!"

The droning shag- carpet feedback of "March of the Goodbyes" opens the record and sets the tone for the rest of the album. (Although it's kind of misleading to use terms like "tone" when describing a Kramer album.) "The Killing," you might say, could be these guys' answer to Eddie Van Halen's "Eruption." "The Revenge of Claire Quilty" creates a vague but enjoyable amalgam of Galaxie 500, Pink Floyd, and say, Arthur Brown. But, again, since the song clocks in at about 12 minutes, I'd say it's about ten minutes too fucking long.

Extended withering guitar freakouts, sappy infant vocals and doom- laden Martin Rev- style keyboards pretty much dominate The Children's Crusade. There's some particularly jazzy high- hatting going on in intro to "Alphaville Beach," and then two tracks of guitar shriek kick in at once, sounding like some crap Lee Ranaldo might have been conjured up on the spot. This exercise in twin- guitar monotony is mercifully short, though, lasting only a mere "Hey Jude"- ish 7+ minutes. And, yes, the madcap Kramer noise antics continue with "Brainville Eclipse," which is more basically formless, seemingly endless mental- patient spy- theme music.

But believe it or not, I don't hate this album. In fact, much like my sushi, heroin and crack cocaine intake, I enjoy the sounds of Kramer's half- a- brainchild Brainville administered in very tiny, carefully- measured doses. Of course, when a band's recorded output becomes a blatent sign that they don't actually give a shit, there's a point where my patience waves the white flag of surrender. Still, listening to The Children's Crusade is better than languishing in total silence, or listening your tuneless girlfriend sing along to old Josie Cotton tunes.

-Michael Sandlin