So many synths, beeps, beats, glitches, horns, hooks, voices. It shouldn't work.

But it does. Perfectly. And it's all because of the enthusiasm and sheer joy that electronic artist Max Tundra (né Ben Jacobs) puts in every note of his second album, Mastered by Guy at the Exchange. Jacobs comes across like a dry, witty Englishman mixed with a three-year-old on a slowburn sugar high. He seizes every strain of pop music and every instrument he can think of, wrapping them in layers of synths and drum programming. He namechecks a Yes album on one song, so it's not surprising when he overdubs himself into a Rick Wakeman who has eight hands and good taste; the flurry of keyboards on "Fuerte" blows through like a swarm of candy-coated insects. Which isn't to ignore the subtleties of the accordions, guitars, trumpets, and other live instruments mixed into the album-- all of them played by Jacobs himself.

Genre-hopping may be old hat by now, but Jacobs' music is so disorienting that the abrupt cuts on, say, "M.B.G.A.T.E." are still startling and bizarre: where did that club beat suddenly come from, and what's with the horns? But there's another reason he keeps catching you off-guard: Jacobs is ostensibly writing pop songs. Under all the chaos, these songs are straightforward and brutally catchy, just about every one of them anchored to a great hook and an intriguing voice.

Jacobs' first album and singles were instrumentals, but here, all but one of the tracks has vocals-- mostly by Jacobs, whose high, mellifluous voice resembles Scritti Politti's Green Gartside or, uh, Prince. But he also invites his sister, Becky, to sing. No offense to Ben's work, but where his voice fits into the music, Becky's soars on it; though not exactly a diva in power or emotional range, she has an attractive voice that adds the right amount of warmth to the electronics. "Lysine", the first single, starts with just her and the most basic possible melody before Ben gradually adds glitches and stuttering keyboards; and she's beautifully nimble singing the arching melody of "Acorns", overdubbing her own harmony while Ben adds a shuffling rhythm track and airy (well, weak-lipped) brass.

Since this is his first time as a lyricist, it's forgivable that Jacobs' words aren't as striking as the music. He confesses, "I only sing about things that happen to me/ I never learned to fill my songs with allegory," and it's true that the songs aren't rich with subtext. But the music's already so busy that it all works out fine-- you don't jam a drumstick in a turkey club sandwich-- and anyway, the unassuming way he writes about himself is fun. It's great, for example, that the song "Gondry" is just a plea to videomaker Michel Gondry (Björk, Radiohead, Massive Attack) to direct one for him. Or that his other verses are so autobiographical-- girls he's loved or loves, complaints about his day jobs-- all strewn with Britpop references and clever rhymes.

But more importantly, he knows how to mesh the words with the music, texturally-- he has a good ear for words and rhymes-- but also narratively. The last track, "Labial", is practically an aria. The lyrics follow a simple hopping melody, telling the story of how Jacobs stole his best friend's girl. Bonus points to Ben for having his sister sing it, making it sapphic. The music dramatizes the words-- much like he'd do with an orchestra, he uses different tonal colors to underline different lyrics-- but here it's the acoustic strumming on the first verse, the giddy keyboards on the next few, and then the abrupt cut to a gnarly, grinding electric guitar. After the bridge he fades to a low, pulsing bassline that underscores the conclusion, and then the music explodes in a wave of keyboards, a massive stretch of sustained chords, making a finish so big, it's this close to being raw, stinking cheese. Yet, its boldness and, if nothing else, utter uniqueness, is what makes it so beautiful.

And that may be the key to the album's success: that it can take the unfamiliar and the over-the-top and tie it to what's recognizable, hitting normal targets with the most creative means Jacobs could imagine. This record shows the breadth of his creativity, yet it's accessible, catchy and brilliantly simple. A massive achievement.

-Chris Dahlen, September 10th, 2002