Since Home advertises Dave Fridmann as producer on their cloyingly pixelated album cover, I'm going to deal with his involvement here first and fast. Fridmann is a person who helps bands record records. He's been blamed for the sound, success, and succulence of a few too many recordings over the last few years-- enough so that his name can overshadow the band's on the marquee. The Flaming Lips' Soft Bulletin would still have been the revelation it was without Dave on board (though his involvement there was obvious and brilliant); the Lips' material was just too damn good. The same applies to XIV.

A not-so-old saying goes: "The producer who produces least produces best." Better said, Fridmann has helped make several bands the bands they can be, not just bands-plus-Fridmann. It seems Fridmann has finally helped usher these kings of the Tampa, Florida scene into the maturity they've been reaching for throughout their massive catalog.

The best thing about Home isn't that their publishing company is called "Screw Music Forever." Or that SMF's logo sports an American currency-style eagle clutching a banner that reads the same. It's that they exemplify such a lofty musical cliché: they "experiment while still maintaining their pop sensibilities." Sounds dumb in the hands of basically anyone else.

The scholarly writers like to slap the prog label on Home like a dainty white glove. It's an classification that should connote a band that refuses to be dull, even if it means creating disquieting records that don't necessarily hook the listener all that violently on first listen. Here, it describes a band that's unafraid to combine crisp vocal harmonies, over-tweeked space synth, and dangerously hippie-esque lyrics with their catchy, carefully guitar-picked tunes.

I don't want to place Home in a dying constellation, but on XIV they do share some sky with Olivia Tremor Control. On this album, the very name Home gains relevance; imagine the comforts of an Olivia record stripped of 90% of the extraneous space junk. Home's songs are their furniture-- the places you come to hang your listening hat. Their format is the decoration: bee-bopish swing as painting, the oddly-placed waltz or minuet as the ornate area rug you still feel uncomfortable dancing upon.

Home's signature recording, 1995's XI, was recorded at the height of lo-fi's reign and reflects the fizz and crackle of the period. Similarly, XIV incorporates the currently chic orgasm-inducing techno-toy whistles and bells, but Home manages, as usual, to wrangle trends to their whims, and make music only they could.

"Children Suite: 3: Displaying Prizms" is the third incarnation of a theme carried across X and XI. It appears on XIV as a full-blown classical composition, complete with woodwinds, piano, bass, and vibes. It's followed by "Aguirre (Exterior)," an instrumental track that accomplishes what so many '70s progsters attempted-- it combines rock and classical elements with a minimum of pretension. But perhaps most emblematic is the sea-faring pop number, "The Fable of Salty Water," which unleashes the Home trope full steam ahead. After each of Eric Morrison's Melville-flavored orders, the band hoists their sails with typical talent, punching out an awkward and angular noise-waltz as counterpoint. The effect is jarring, wildly pretty, and memorable as hell.

Home is a band that makes you feel weird about singing along, goofy for shaking it with them, and embarrassed that you can't describe what's so great about them to your friends in a sentence or two. And they've been doing it for the better part of a decade. 14 records is too long to wait for a fan-base to gather. Go buy this.

-Judson Picco