Probably the most amazing thing about Chixdiggit's From Scene to Shining Scene is that the world finally has a singer that can bridge the commonly perceived aesthetic gap between Kenny Loggins and Billy Corgan. Chixdiggit frontman KJ Jansen provides a strange but satisfying middle ground between the two famed rockers. Personally, I'm dumbstruck by the all-too obvious stylistic connections between the reclusive former pop sensation and the demon-headed Corgan.

With that seemingly absurd comparison in mind, here's an important hypothetical experiment to consider: imagine Billy Corgan singing the Caddyshack theme song, "I'm Alright," and Loggins belting out Siamese Dream's "Today." Scary, huh? But I digress. Chixdiggit's brand of lightweight punk-pop, frighteningly enough, probably owes more to Loggins' oeuvre than the Pumpkins' litany of grunge-metal histrionics. Perhaps a more appropriate analogy would be Kenny Loggins fronting the Ramones.

And speaking of the Ramones, From Scene to Shining Scene's greatest strength is its Ramones-like brevity. These are short songs for short attention spans-- the entire album clocks in at under 30 minutes. That's just a hair shorter than the average Phish guitar solo, kids. You're not even given enough time to really hate the album, though it's not like you're gonna become emotionally attached to it, either. It's sort of a fail-safe operation on the part of our Kanuck pop-rocker pals.

The problem with making a record this fleeting? You've gotta be merciless, guys. You can't stop kicking ass until that 25 minutes is up. Unfortunately, it seems our boys had two or three decent songs written for this album, and sleepwalked their way through a few tossed-off throwaways.

Chixdiggit strategically place the two most obscenely catchy songs-- "My Dad vs. P.M." and "Thursday Night"-- right at the beginning of the album. But subsequent songs whiz by in a flash, and without any major revelatory incidents. So all you really retain in your memory bank is the scratchy whine of Jansen's vocals and a faint pulse of distorted guitar. Simply put, these songs are the kind you'd write just after learning those first three barre chords from Mel Bay.

Yep, downstroked fat chords and major keys are the order of the day here, along with a little sloppy, heavy-metallic soloing ambition. "Spanish Fever," about the exotic appeal of foreign women to virginal, pasty-faced suburban dudes, features the expected tongue-in- cheek, nylon-stringed flamenco guitar solo. "Born in Toulouse," similarly, is about the exotic appeal of French women to virginal, pasty-faced suburban dudes. "Moto Foxe," featuring whining Judas Priest-like lead guitar, is supposed to be funny, I think. Though, that song about the meat-eating father pissing off Paul McCartney finds greater success in its humorous intent.

Admittedly, it's pretty tough to slag a band like Chixdiggit. Every time the evil, hypercritical Pitchforkian demon-critic writhing inside me finds another reason to pan this album, my charitable shoulder-angel appears, reminding me that, if nothing else, at least they're not another Tortoise knockoff. And that's true. At least these stupid, unpretentious songs are written to elicit some sort of positive physical response in the listener: jumping on the bed, pumping fists in air, beer- swilling, vigorous nose-picking. And that's enough to be classified as legit in my book.

At best, Chixdiggit are silly and fun in that Canadian hoser sort of way. And with their particular brand of nerdy absurdist comedy, these guys can provide some mild entertainment-- a way to pleasantly kill a few moments of your too-long, bogus life. I can't promise that this album will provide any lasting panacea against the crushing pain of modern existence, though. For confidence and assurance in these uncertain times, you'll have to turn to Kenny Loggins Live!, or imagine Billy Corgan singing "Footloose."

-Michael Sandlin