I aspire to become one of these people. You know, these people. People like the Incredible Moses Leroy. I mean, musician, sure. I've already got that covered. Play more than one instrument? Yeah, I can do that. But I haven't quite reached the lofty heights demonstrated by Moses. See, here's how it works: you spend all your money on expensive gear and vintage keyboards. How? I don't know, not eating or something. For the aspiring cashless musician, it seems difficult, but it's always proven possible.

Moses Leroy (aka R. Fountenberry) became an idol of mine before I even listened to his record. One glance at the credits in the liner notes and I nearly melted: Mellotron. Wurlitzer electric piano. Fun Machine. Roland Groove Box. Ohhh, it's getting hotter in here. Mini Moog. Juno 106. Roland JP8080. Ice water, please? Theremin. Dark Star synth module. Orcoa organ. Casiotone MT68... whoops! Oh my... let me clean that up. What?! It's just saliva. Honestly!

The synth fetish is really all it takes for me to identify with an artist; I've got it, too. So why is it that when I listen to Electric Pocket Radio, I am profoundly disappointed? Maybe I shouldn't have let my superficial expectations get to me. Still, most of Fountenberry's songwriting just isn't up to par by most standards. There are a few key moments of guilty pleasure, and the overall aesthetic of the record is appealing on the surface. But underneath the scratchy record sounds and the canned Casiotones, Fountenberry hasn't got enough substance to sustain him for ten minutes, let alone the length of an entire album.

"Beep Beep Love" starts things promisingly. An arpeggiated analog synth kicks it off (probably that damn Mini Moog) as a honky-tonk piano groove leads us into a joyously funky chorus. The lyrics are amusingly childish, singing of "future love" with the "fashion girl from outer space." But the sticky sweetness becomes too much to bear with "Fuzzy," a track based entirely around a single repetitive Latin-tinged sample as the record pops and clicks conspicuously. "And you are soft and cuddly," he sings with a nauseating twee affectation, "and you are warm and fuzzy." He attempts to make the song darker, later calling the object of his affections "the only blue-eyed Nazi prom queen." This does little to redeem it. And we're only on the second track!

Something like half of the 15 songs deals with such sugary subject matter. The other half are based on gratingly repetitive two-chord progressions, with little or no change in melody from beginning to end. Granted, there are one or two exceptions where this works. "Treble" is the key deviation. Its NyQuil shoegazer reflects a hazy image of Kevin Shields' Bloody Valentine. And the driving rock guitars in "Anthem," combined with the plaintive pop melody and the generic title, seem to coalesce into something enjoyable. The track somehow makes a statement that he might know more about this songwriting stuff than he lets on.

It's no surprise that the record generally succeeds when he's not aiming for traditional pop music. The tracks that usually make me happy are the quirkier instrumentals, which sadly comprise only about a third of the material present. Specifically, I go nuts over the brief centerpiece and title track, "Electric Pocket Radio." The music is constructed from cheap Casiotones, with samples from an archaic Teach Yourself French record. It's one of those songs that "anyone could make," but the melody is pleasurable enough to warrant its familiar theme.

Which is another thing that inspires me. My friend and I have spoken of the mythical Sample Store, featuring all those old spoken word samples that you hear on all those cut-and-paste DJ records, the location of which is only revealed to those who have ten or more vintage synths and samplers. Fountenberry obviously knows the location. This is why I want to be one of these people. Old instructional records on setting up your stereo equipment and learning a language could be just at my fingertips. In fact, judging by the rest of Electric Pocket Radio, maybe I should have spent my $10 on a mellotron. I'd be that one step closer to being in. In for real!

-Spencer Owen