The best book I've read in ages is Stanislaw Lem's A Perfect Vacuum, a collection of book reviews written by Lem about books that never existed. Vacuum's musical counterpart may well be Secret Chiefs 3's Book of Horizons, a compilation of songs by bands led by SC3's leader, Trey Spruance – bands that don't exist, at least outside the studio.

I first heard of Lem after a conversation with Spruance about Jorge Luis Borges and Philip K. Dick, so it's no surprise the parallels between them run deeper. Lem, a science fiction writer largely ignored by critics outside of the sci-fi ghetto, is brilliant. Spruance, meanwhile, occupies his own little ghetto, having co-led cult band Mr. Bungle for 15 years. And as Lem did with Vacuum, Spruance has used an approach that could've easily devolved into trivial postmodern game-playing to instead make profound (and pessimistic) commentaries about the state of humanity. I kid you not.

Secret Chiefs 3 began as a real-life trio in the mid-'90s but have since evolved into an elaborate studio project that uses cutting-edge recording technology to sound, in many cases, decidedly unmodern. Their music has always included a mix of seemingly unrelated, and often underappreciated, genres such as '60s film music, surf rock, Indian and Arabic folk, electro-acoustic noise, and death metal. While impressive, the band's previous albums (Horizons is number four) only hint at the grandeur on display here. Horizons is panoramic, vividly three-dimensional, and free from the stiffness that hampered parts of 2001's otherwise excellent Book M - and never mind that the huge string orchestras, choirs, and percussion ensembles are illusory, the product of marathon overdub sessions.

Like Lem, Spruance has a gift for crafting miniature worlds that could have existed but don't. That happens with Ishraqiyun's "The 3," an Afghani folk song with reverb-drenched string sections and metal guitars, and Ur's "Anthropomorphosis: Boxleitner," which sounds like futuristic surf rock as played by Arabic Devo impersonators. Spruance and company can also play it straight, as they do on a handful of enormous orchestral pieces: Traditionalists' Morricone-worthy "The Exile," Ur's cover of the theme from Exodus, and the opening and closing funeral laments by Forms. In the midst of all this fanciness are a pair of full-stop death metal songs by Holy Vehm, the second of which, "Hypostasis of the Archons," dwarfs all comers this side of Gorguts' Obscura for abstract, relentlessly jarring brutality.

Spruance will always be haunted by his Mr. Bungle connection, even if it's that faithful core audience that allows him to finance such ambitious productions (Horizons is the first of a planned three-volume series). That said, Horizons in on par with Mr. Bungle's pinnacle, Disco Volante, except Horizons has emotional depth that wasn't even hinted at earlier. Now the question is, Is anybody else out there listening? (Will York)

DNA
DNA on DNA (No More)

Even ensconced alongside the Contortions and Teenage Jesus and the Jerks on that no-wave Rosetta stone of a comp, No New York (1978), DNA stood out like a mutated double helix at a singles bar, thanks to their spare spurts of noise, mostly untethered to trad blues, rock, and folk apart from guitarist Arto Lindsay's cantankerous hollers. But despite their difficult, cranky nature, the songs on DNA on DNA, a compilation of rare and out-of-print fragments from sources like the trio's "You and You" single and A Taste of DNA EP, are less obscure, veiled, and hazy than clear, present, and unrecognizable – aural appendages, fingers, and amputated bits were sutured together for this gimpy, askew, yet appealing beast of a band. Is that a rumba beat of a third limb, a healed-over scab of Afro-Cuban drumming, or the most rude plucking masquerading as the genetic stuff of song?

DNA's ungainly moves somehow seemed to get them pegged, along with Mars, as the most unlistenable of the no-wave crowd. Now they just seem like the most relevant, judging from the work of intentional-or-not offspring like Animal Collective, Erase Errata, and the Flying Luttenbachers. They provided the code for rock 'n' roll erosion, be it embedded in an erratic rhythmic lurch that echoes that of Japanese theatrical music ("Horse") or the heart-attack pulse of Ikue Mori's taiko drumming ("New New"). Tired pop posturing was out; learning a new musical language set to African rhythms was in ("Grapefruit"), along with Pere Ubu tendencies (ex-P.U. bassist Tim Wright had joined the group by "New Fast"), and not-so-simple purgative noise ("Detached [Early Version]"). Still, despite the esoteric-for-the-time trace elements, DNA also knew and worked a good riff when they heard one ("Taking Kid to School"). I dare you not to tap your toe to "Size" – you can't resist the call of DNA. (Kimberly Chun)

Los Amigos Invisibles
The Venezuelan Zinga Son Vol. 1 (Luaka Bop)

After four long years, South America's favorite horndogs, Los Amigos Invisibles, are back with The Venezuelan Zinga Son Vol. 1 (loose translation: The Venezuelan Fuckfest). On previous albums the group had a tendency to blow their load with brilliant disco-esque confections but subsequently fall prey to pop demons with songs that were so fluffy they could be mistaken for the Backstreet Boys en español. By moving away from adolescent pop hooks toward a more cohesive dance experience, our invisible friends have found staying power on Zinga Son.

Produced by house legends Masters at Work, this is Los Amigos Invisibles' third album on David Byrne's Luaka Bop, and to the delight of the label's fans, Zinga Son marks its first release in recent memory. The group has lived in Brooklyn for the past several years, so it comes as no surprise that their most significant new influence on this record is a Nuyorican salsa groove. Most tracks naturally melt into one another in a drippy house haze, while the few that really articulate themselves include "Playa Azul," with its trippy samba; "Calne," with its straight salsa; and "Bruja," with its frevo-inspired drive. With its smooth blend of hypnotic house, raunchy lyrics, and pan-Latin American grooves, Zinga Son is the perfect summer dig. Los Amigos Invisibles play Fri/11, Bimbo's 365 Club, S.F. (415) 474-0365. (Mirissa Neff)