That said, there certainly are moments in which the listener is a bit more firmly tethered to the ground. The disc starts off, after all, with the mad jittery rush of Orange Juice's 1980 single "Blue Boy," a limb-twitching ramshackle jangle from the early years of the Scottish post-punk band. The song's bright-eyed overdrive - perhaps slightly reminiscent of the Modern Lovers, thanks in part to leader Edwyn Collins' breathlessly affected, giddy delivery - is a fitting introduction to young Hallam, a kid vibrating with energy but not always sure of how to wisely use it.

His exuberance is frequently offset by a propensity to indulge his darker urges: hence, the inclusion of "Broken Bones," a menacing Johnny Cash-meets-X rockabilly stalker by Glasgow's Sons and Daughters, offers a nervy portend of troubles to come. Further psychic damage is incurred with Clinic's leering, sneering "If You Could Read Your Mind," a gleefully sinister web of tripped-out zithers, nasty spy-movie guitar, sickly organ whirrs, and Ade Blackburn's signature needling acidic vocals. Taken together, these elements create a bizarre near-Eastern psych-rock feeling that succeeds in not only eliciting some genuine discomfort, but also in stirring up some serious "Where am I?" confusion. A different sort of weightlessness, but weightlessness nonetheless.

U.N.P.O.C.'s delirious cries of freedom on "Here on My Own" could very well be the emotional centerpiece of the album - and film. It manages to give voice to the protagonist's optimism, inner turmoil, and ache for redemption all at once. Opening with a shimmering guitar intro before heading for the heavens with a chorus of delirious falsetto howls, the song reaches full undeniable urgency with vocalist Tom Bauchop's declarations of "It's the future, future, future, future!" over a slow-building folk-rock ramble. There's an interesting tug-of-war here, between the earthiness of the guitar and the sky-seeking vocals, between the grinning rooftop-shout of "I'm here on my own!" and the lonely message lying underneath. I don't know a thing about U.N.P.O.C., but I think I'll need to learn more soon.

Brooding Caledonian folk is well-represented by the quietly burning "The Someone Else" by King Creosote, a chronicle of infidelity and mistrust recounted over circular acoustic guitar patterns, sighing accordion, and understated banjo. The Fife, Scotland, singer-songwriter - Kenny Anderson to his friends and family - surveys the domestic wreckage with a mix of sadness and well-placed sarcasm, delivering a slow punch with the heart-removing query at the center of it all: "Is this the Someone Else?" James Yorkston and the Athletes bring considerable pastoral warmth with the (mostly) fond reminiscences of "Surf Song," a sublime bed of acoustic guitars, spring-morning violins, and Yorkston's astonishingly tender burr. "And I do all I can / To keep my life moving on," he affirms to himself, after recalling the small joys of swimming and, er, seeing one's enemies "get what they deserve." Absolutely gorgeous, even with the added schadenfreude.

The feeling of weightlessness, of looming above it all, is achieved convincingly on Future Pilot AKA's woozy-horn, skittering-tempo "Battle at the Gates of Dub," as well as on the Bill Wells Trio's nicely spacey "Also in White." The latter, twinkling with soulful keys and yet churning with strangely haunting harmonica, arrives as the midpoint between Air's AM-radio smoothness and the more mournful passages of John Barry's Midnight Cowboy score.

From there, the sense of dislocation just keeps on coming: Juana Molina's "Salvese Quien Pueda" orchestrates layers of treated vocals, electronic whirs, slow-plucked acoustic guitar, and what sound like bird calls and baby coos into a gloriously free-floating wonder. Cinema's "They Nicknamed Me Evil" mixes disembodied voices, creaking doors, and a John Carpenter-worthy creep-out bell melody to create an alluring soundscape in which childhood whimsy butts heads with approaching doom.

Woodbine steers the proceedings earthward with the lazy-day psychedelic folk-rock of "I Hope That You Get What You Want." Lastly, the sorely underappreciated Bristol, England, bliss-poppers Movietone end Hallam Foe on a divine note: their gently-swirling momentum-builder "Ocean Song," with its slow-rolling drums and graceful tidal pull, is sure to bring smiles upon the faces of Galaxie 500 fans looking for a new fix. To be more specific, the track reminds me of one of the legendary Boston band's occasional Naomi Yang-sung numbers - the incandescent "Another Day", for example - due to Kate Wright's tantalizingly ghost-like vocals, drifting and fluttering above the swells of guitar. And once the phantom horns arrive at the song's storming finale, it's all over for me - I'm engulfed!

One last note: Hallam Foe's biggest name, Franz Ferdinand, contributes a track not found elsewhere, the charmingly titled "Hallam Foe Dandelion Blow." Expecting more of their familiar Gang of Four-indebted angularity? Well, you won't find it here: instead, the lads summon up a little Lee Hazlewood, a touch of Scott Walker, and a considerable dose of psychedelics in this much-welcome left-turn. With its strange billowy puffs of electric piano, high-desert rockabilly guitar, and vocalist Alex Kapranos' ironic croon, the number is a worthy tribute to both iconoclasts' late-'60s oddball-pop.

The combination of cheekiness and trouble is also a fitting summary of Hallam Foe himself; despite the wayward youth's problems and occasionally less-than-brilliant choices, it's tough not to root for him. He's the kind of kid who just needs to be given his fair chances, you know? Still, being loose and free - weightless, even - certainly has its advantages, and in the time we get to know young Hallam onscreen, it appears that drifting is working out OK for him. As Kapranos pointedly observes: "When you leave, you're a dandelion / blown on the breeze / wondering where you could be."

Here's the trailer for Hallam/ Mister Foe, including snippets of Orange Juice and U.N.P.O.C.:

Here's a homemade video for U.N.P.O.C.'s "Here on My Own," featuring clips from the film: