To paraphrase Bum Phillips, Diamanda Galas may not be in a class by herself but it doesn't take long to call roll. Her uniqueness is partially due to genetics, as singers with a four- octave range just don't come along very often. She can both out- bottom that guy from the Oak Ridge Boys and go higher than Mariah Carey on helium, all with perfect control. This in itself is impressive enough to make her music worth checking out-- like reading Mark Leyner or watching Jordan run ball, you have to marvel at the technique even if it doesn't move you. If you're looking to actually enjoy the music, though, it's a tougher call.

On Malediction And Prayer Galas applies her talents to live, solo performance. It's her at a piano, wailing away about shattered lives at a pitch that could shatter glass. Broadly speaking, Galas is a performer in the Tom Waits vein, with a perennially fringe theatrical style meant to challenge listeners. Like Waits, she commands respect from the avant- garde community, but her music as a whole has an even narrower appeal. It's not particularly tuneful, the songs are sung in a variety of languages (shrieking in tongues, as it were), and some of her vocal techniques are drawn from the free jazz school of passionate dissonance. Basically, she screams a lot, and there are no other noises to distract you from her voice, just the Steinway grand, played entirely straight.

Galas has her admirers, and though I'm not one of them, at times I can see where they're coming from. Now and then there's a moment, a phrase, a piece of something that you latch onto and understand. The dirge "Iron Lady" opens the album; a song about execution via electric chair, it's subject matter is well- suited to Galas' creepy voice. Next is the standard "The Thrill is Gone," which gets a shrill, out- there reading that is way too much for me. It begins with an intense, 30- second vibrato screech, and I can't help but plug my ears when I hear it.

But then we have "My World Is Empty," an absolutely beautiful gospel that Galas executes perfectly. It is by far the most enjoyable thing on the album, and points to the fact that she could have a mainstream audience if she wanted it. But this is, after all, a woman who published a book called "The Shit of God." So it's no surprise that the next tune, an exceedingly melodramatic vocal workout sung in what is presumably Hebrew, is completely baffling. From that point forward it's pretty challenging stuff, and though I like to think of myself as having broad tastes, I couldn't get into it. Galas fans will love it and it's worth a try if you're into experimental vocal music, but most people won't want to bother.

-Mark Richard-San