When the goth scene's elder statesmen such as near-academic musical mystics Thighpaulsandra (né Tim Lewis) and his partners in Coil, come out to play, something truly off-putting almost always rears its head. My first taste of Thighpaulsandra, then in Coil, sent me running for the back of the room to escape the projections of hacked-up animals and a child who had jizzed himself at the sight of his mother's death: the type of stuff one might consider doubly vulgar, indeed. It wasn't Lewis's usual fare, per se, but nothing really is.

In the case of Double Vulgar II, the shocking attention-grabber comes more in the form of pop influence than anything terribly gruesome. Lewis's side gigs in Spiritualized and Julian Cope's band might provide a little insight into how pop has insidiously seeped into his often-heavy stream of gauzy discord. His songs – actually compositions, each in the neighborhood of 10 to 20 minutes – can turn from echo-laden clicks and howls to straight-up rockers ("Telly for Rex"). That gothy, ethereal magick is still the common thread that fastens each track to its successor, but Lewis's constantly changing focus is remarkable. "The Vile Receipt" fools with dialogue and ambient noise while nodding to Cleo Laine's jittery Schoenberg renditions. And before long, Barry Adamson-style film jazz, replete with tinkly vibraphone and swirly guitar, takes over "Imperial." Black lipstick and disembodied pricks – like the one adorning this record's cover – aside, Lewis's penchant for informed instrumentation and experimental songcraft, along with his disinterest for the way things used to be done, is just what the ambient darkwave scene needs. It conveniently makes "popular music" the most vulgar utterance of all. (Ken Taylor)

United State of Electronica
United State of Electronica (Sonic Boom)

Considering the tepid response to Daft Punk's recent Human After All (Virgin) and the drubbing Mirwais took for his work on Madonna's commercially disastrous 2003 album, American Life (Warner Bros.), French dance artists aren't exactly taking over the U.S. mainstream these days. Fortunately, that hasn't deterred United State of Electronica from finding inspiration in les discothèques françaises: not since VHS or Beta released 2002's Le Funk (On!) has a stateside rock act so exuberantly channeled French dance music as this seven-person group from Seattle. With nods to Studio 54 and especially Parisians like Cassius, USE's très Chic debut fuses live instruments, synths, impossibly huge pop hooks, and vocoders galore – Cher's "Believe" sounds positively subtle in comparison – into a nonstop party that should set free many a wallflower's inner dancing queen. Yep, it's that irresistible.

It's also, truth be told, extremely repetitive. Once the euphoric rush of the opening "It Is On!" and "Emerald City" fades, the songs are practically indistinguishable from one another. Not that it matters much given that, even at their most predictable, USE get by on sheer enthusiasm; like the Polyphonic Spree without the Jesus garb and creepy cult vibe, they sound so intoxicated by their own songs and uplifting message that it's hard to imagine members ever performing without the world's biggest perma-grins plastered across their faces. And when they're joyously commanding everyone to "Party 'til we drop, don't stop / Get up and do it again" over grooves worthy of some serious rug cutting, their giddiness is entirely contagious. United State of Electronica play Sun/12, Bottom of the Hill, S.F. (415) 621-4455. (Jimmy Draper)

Eels
Blinking Lights and Other Revelations (Vagrant)

I first found out about Eels from a reclusive friend named Goblyn who spent his days shaving his eyebrows and studying to be a mortician, so I've always associated the two entities fairly closely in my head. Who better to empathize with the derelict "Bus Stop Boxer" on Souljacker (Dreamworks), or that "Voices tell me I'm the shit" lyric on Electro-Shock Blues (Dreamworks)?

For his eighth full-length, Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, Mark Oliver Everett (known by fans simply as "E") and his ever changing supporting cast trade in misanthropy for the sake of "hanging on to my remaining shreds of sanity and the blue sky that comes the day after a terrible storm," Everett says on the band's Web site.

That said, Eels may no longer be the band to queue up on your iPod while you're peering into a loved one's bedroom window late at night, but Blinking Lights has virtues of its own. Tom Waits shows up to cry like a baby on "Going Fetal," the bittersweet childhood memory "Son of a Bitch" features a saxophone sextet, and for those who swing that way, there's no shortage of autoharp. With lyrics like "When I get there and she sees me, I'll be impressed if she does not run screaming," Everett reverts to his old ways now and then, but for the most part, his "love letter to life itself, in all its beautiful, horrible glory" is a solid, upbeat rock album. Eels play June 15, Great American Music Hall, S.F. (415) 885-0750. (Leah Freeman)

Van Morrison
Magic Time (Geffen)

Curmudgeonly corpulence, thy name is Van Morrison! The Irish singer-songwriter has sated himself, with varying degrees of success, with the same backward-looking blues, R&B, folk, and jazz recipes ever since he recorded 1968's hallucinatory Astral Weeks and 1970's eclectic Moondance (both Warner Bros.). Since then, the quality of his albums has depended on his level of engagement, often dropping into banal genre exercises when disinterested or floating into his trademark musical alchemy when focused. On Magic Time Morrison concentrates his powers for the most part, but occasionally he dips into his well of exhausted musical clichés.

The album kicks off with two stunners. "Stranded" is a standard R&B ballad with excellent playing by pianist Brian Connor and sweet saxophone from Morrison. With a title like "Celtic New Year," one would expect Celtic flourishes in the arrangement, but its straight soul sound makes the entrance of Paddy Maloney's whistle all the more surprising and delightful. Unfortunately, Morrison drops the ball on the next four tracks. The dull blues of "Keep Mediocrity at Bay" features obvious lyrics such as "Politics and religion, superstition go hand in hand." The band also slaughters the Sinatra tune "This Love of Mine" with a lack of swing and an insipid, nostalgia-driven jazz horn arrangement. Howling saxophones are just so yesterday.

Luckily Morrison recovers on the rest of the album. The gorgeous "Just Like Greta" evokes lonesome estuaries. The title track is a slice of old-style soul with lush chord progressions, and "They Sold Me Out" exults in a gospel sound and idiosyncratic lyrics. That number and the rest of the highlights on Magic Time show just how good Morrison can be when he trusts himself as a songwriter and allows his material to ripen. Whenever he does otherwise, he becomes just another legend banking on his reputation. This album proves he doesn't need to. Van Morrison performs Thur/9, Masonic Auditorium, S.F. 1-800-225-2277. (Alex K. Fong)