If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, then Air are from some Gallic space lab, orbiting points east and west and galaxies beyond. Observing the romantic disconnect between puny humanoids from afar, Jean-Benoît Dunckel and Nicolas Godin may interface via machine and a mesh of multilingual filters, analog portals, and decorative algorithms, but that isn't to say the pair like to hide behind white lab coats and banks of Fender Rhodeses, Moogs, and Korg M20s. Considering their latest dispatch – a CD-DVD, Talkie Walkie, and its cover's unobstructed views of the pair's suavely unshaven mugs – we can only assume Air wish to communicate, if only about the impossibility of unmediated, ungarbled, static-free connection.

Unfortunately a feeling of futility has overtaken the mission. They tried to deliver their grand statement and their final report on fin de siècle modern life with their last studio album, 10,000 Hz. Legend (2001), a compulsively listenable glam rock-opera rejoinder to Dark Side of the Moon, but Earth merely belched a big "ho hum" and went back to monitoring its tech stocks. Still, the very fact that earthlings expect epic, meaningful productions from the pleasantly numb Air men should comfort, and Talkie Walkie tries to fulfill some of those needs. The CD starts strong with "Venus," "Cherry Blossom Girl," and "Run" – well-upholstered, creamy vinyl ballads with trademark minor-key pop hooks, ambient synth, faux hand claps, and whispery vocals. It's not new, but it's still seductive, particularly when pointillist keys, dashes of flute, and strings arranged by Michel Colombier cushion the romantic longing. Too bad instrumentals such as the pretty, Ryuichi Sakamoto-ish "Alone in Kyoto" (from the movie Lost in Translation) break the mood of synthetic heartbreak, pointing to the patchwork nature of the album, which was culled from 40 songs written last year and distributed among various projects.

Fans gasping for Air will appreciate even a partial transmission, but you have to wonder what the pair's limits are – even as they end on a note of mild perversity Serge Gainsbourg would savor. "Your fingerprints, the flesh around your bones / I'd like to know why all these things move me / Let's fuse our cells to be as one tonight ... I need your DNA," Air murmur on "Biological," adrift on narcotic synth and tinny banjo. You wonder if Dunckel and Godin have a gun or even a scalpel in their pocket – or if the long-gone duo are just glad to see you. (Kimberly Chun)

Trans Am
Liberation (Thrill Jockey)

Had she stuck it out this long, Emma Goldman would've been proud. Her oft-quoted "If I can't dance, I want no part in your revolution" slogan speaks more loudly today than ever as it seems just about every typically apolitical musician has chosen a side in recent affairs of state. It's not particularly shocking that bands are taking up their guitars in protest – the Dixie Chicks being one exception – but some seem less prone to do so than others. Trans Am, for instance, spent the last 10 years cracking indie rock in-jokes by lampooning the oh-so-sacred prog rock, metal, and computer-pop genres and snapping some pretty hilarious press shots too. On Liberation, however, they've decidedly knocked down the kitsch factor and introduced vocals and news bytes to clarify their left-of-center stance. The media called for an end to the age of irony, and they found unlikely accordance from the Washington, D.C.-based trio, who have shaped up for a new resistance and nervously admit, "Hey guys, we're serious this time too."

Despite Trans Am's adjusted demeanor, they're no less the fierce players they've always been. Spending nearly half of every year on the road has kept their chops more than up to snuff – which the immediacy of Liberation's live sound testifies to. Like The Surveillance a few years before, Liberation's tension level is set somewhere between yellow and orange alert as the band interrupt their three-piece rockist experimentation with darkly subterranean electro-tinged interludes. They've also taken the vaguely political plunderphonic route, weaving into "Uninvited Guest" the now legendary "Bushwhacked" MP3 that's made the rounds on the Net and aptly found its way into the diets of countless mash-up collagists.

While the band will probably never shake their passion for imitation – Pere Ubu, Devo, and the Cure all make veiled appearances – Liberation demonstrates both Trans Am's impressive musical range and their newfound hope to free indie rock from its general apathy. And for us on the Left Coast, it's nice to know we've got agents on the front lines. (Ken Taylor)

Numbers
In My Mind All the Time (Tigerbeat6)

How many reviews of this new Numbers record are going to mention the fact that there are 12 songs clocking in at a little over 24 minutes? That's two minutes per song! What is this? 1977? Dude, you read it here first! Punk is not dead! Holy shit, you must own this new album from Numbers! Why? Because these songs are great. You can dance to them, you can play them and say, "Hey, these guys have records I like back at their house. They're combining elements of post-punk with modern-day skronk, space-age bachelor pad music, and even some kind of Latin jazz type of thing. I mean, listen to the Moog – the thing's jumping around like it's wearing a zoot suit." Also, you can listen to the lyrics and be like, "Man, these guys have some weird problems. One guy wants to have sex with appliances and products all the time, and the girl is afraid of diseases floating around in the air. They're just like me! The other guy doesn't say much, and he clearly doesn't like guitar solos or even ZZ Top. But he's cool anyway because the guitar he plays is pretty nasty."