hat an ungodly collection of tunes that had me blinking at times at its vague neuroticism, and then reeling in its brilliance at other times.

Echoes , the effusively hyped second full-length from The Rapture, is an unwieldy collection of punk, funk, goth, dance and early electronica that gives nods all over the place, including ? yes it is confirmed ? the famed vocal cords of The Cure 's Robert Smith.

Dark by nature of vocalist Luke Jenner's haunting and anxious warble, the album begins with some of its weakest tunes, but don't give up. By the sixth track, you'll find yourself struck in the reverie of what I can only presume is the primary culprit for generating all the buzz in the music press ? ?The House of Jealous Lovers.? Buried in the middle of this disturbing beast of an album, it's apparent The Rapture had faith in this tune, which is both frightening and strikingly beautiful, and which, unlike most ?hits,? has the potential to redeem the entire record.

Just listen to those damn cowbells and try not to feel touched by the Hindi god of dance. That combined with the shrieks of a crowd being burned to death, the ushering in of three lone electric guitar chords, infectious bass and Jenner's vocal insanity, preaching: ?House of Jealous Lovers ?. SHAKE DOWN!!!!!?

For all those who worship the bizarre but can appreciate a dance beat, this is a winning combination.

From this point on, the tunes hold their own. On ?Echoes,? it's the best of punk and funk, ground into a fast-breaking tune that ultimately spirals into chaos. The hypnotic bass-drone in ?Killing? offers something a little more mesmerizing, even as Jenner sings, ?1, 2, 3, 4, kick that fucker out the door.? By the end, it's the words ?got to got to know/got to got to know? being uttered into quirky, repetitive oblivion. Another major highlight is the catchy ?Sister Saviour,? which, of all the songs on the album, comes closest to bordering on dark pop.

As I alluded to earlier, the let-downs came in the first half of the record, which almost had me casting the band off as another rock casualty in the big bad world of electronica. My interpretation of the god-awful beats in ?Olio? and ?I Need Your Love? was a very sad tale ? that of another would-be-great band dabbling unsuccessfully in electronica, losing heart and resorting to writing vocals over some random synth presets. But even on some of those tunes, the chorus hooks are delivered with such raw but catchy abandon that the genius of art punk refuses to be denied.

Since ?pushing the edge? gets double weight in a bluepuppy review, this record gets an A for being relentless on the dance grooves, while still being voracious about splicing up the monotony of pop structure, and (would you believe it) turning rock into dance and cowbells into punk.