I put it down to the power of earnestness. How else can you explain the raging success of Moby's Play? C'mon, the guy's a dweebie vegan Christian baldie who got lucky after finding some use for an old Christmas gift, The Smithsonian Folkways box set. Rather than regifting, which no doubt would have been against vegan principles, Moby curled up in bed with the Good Book and listened to the field hollers and Western Swing fiddle-madness contained on those 20 sumptuously sleeve-noted discs.

Thus, Moby made the connection between the raver and the bluegrass fan. As an irrefutable direct result, he crushed Emmylou Harris as the sole topic of conversation on the New York Times popular online music discussion forum. From there, it was a short hop to the Times' arts pages and certain credibility (as opposed to the feigned tolerance the Times usually gives rave culture). Meanwhile, the lazy slags at Spin jumped on Moby's train as a result of a multi-issue, big-buck ad campaign placed by the multinational media conglomerate of which Moby's label is a constituent. Probably.

So there are the reasons that you'll persistently hear "Bodyrock" and "Honey" in bars that your less culturally-aware chums drag you to, and maybe you'll even try in vain to turn them on to Michael Wells' Out is In. Because if they want to pay good money for albums of light dance music that ironically incorporate chunks of authentic, traditional music into the mix, they might as well buy a good one. Offering sage advice is, after all, what being a friend is about.

Michael Wells has been at this techno lark far longer than Moby; Wells was one half of GTO, Tricky Disko, Technohead, Church of Exstasy, and Signs of Chaos. His work spans from bleep and bass, and industrial dance to ganglia-twisting gabber. Wells' S.O.L.O project is likely a way for him to relax. He kicks back with some light-hearted moments and expects us to join him on his plush velour couch of fun.

Fittingly then, Out is In begins with the lysergic Hawaiian lilt of "Angel of Love" before deeply delving into a slo-mo slap-bassed and acid-spiked session of "4 Play." But it's not until "Tummy Finger" that the blatant sampling begins. Wells clips an unaccredited bluesman who bellyaches about his search for his "baby love" while a Roland 303 crawls around, probably in search of that very same damsel. "Do Like This" is an instructional for octogenarian lindyhoppers. Its skipping rhythms are light enough to offset the pain of collapsing on one's aluminum walker.

"The Bachelor Party" offers not Tom Hanks' vision of that traditional prenuptial occasion, but rather a glimpse into the kegs-n-strippers celebration of steelworkers. Yes, you can make out the deafening grrrzzzzah of the slicing blade as the steel comes out of the press. Here, realizing he'd not achieved complete euphony, Wells caps the party off with the mumbled sweet-riens of some French beauty.

Out is In is shot through with a playfulness that was singularly absent from Moby's ironically-titled chart-topper. And for the same reason, it's the most enjoyable of all the discs released on Scanner's Sulfur label thus far. Out is In isn't going to change your world; nor is it going to convince Molly Hatchet fans to repent, embrace their inner trance child, and head west for the next Burning Man festival. But by the opposite token, the album isn't the burst and carpet-soaking colostomy bag that Luke Vibert and BJ Cole titled Start the Panic. So, there you have it-- somewhere between genius and idiocy, out really is in.

-Paul Cooper