As the leader of the experimental rock band the Sun City Girls, Alan Bishop made a career out of synthesizing third world musical influences into his own brand of skewed psychedelia. With his record label Sublime Frequencies, he brings his audience directly to the source of his inspiration by compiling fragments of AM, FM and shortwave broadcasts from far-flung regions of the globe. Presented as audio collages, Bishop's Sublime Frequencies discs are like panoramas of local taste, shifting from traditional and ethnic music to approximations of Western pop and snippets of DJ announcements, advertisements, station announcements, news clips and political propaganda. The CDs in the series can either be taken as a radical DIY form of ethnomusicology or a form of inexpensive low-risk cultural tourism.

Comprised of broadcasts recorded and edited by Bishop in 2005, "Radio Algeria" is the latest in the Sublime Frequencies series. This six minute excerpt begins with an intriguing bit of hard-edged Middle Eastern psychedelic rock before shifting into some gentle dentist office funk and a perky modernized version of regional folk music.

For more about Alan Bishop and the Sublime Frequencies label (including sound clips from other titles in the series) I recommend reading Otis Hart's informative feature "Scavenged Sounds Gone Global," published by asap back in October of last year. You can find that story here.

If you spend more than a few seconds pondering DraculaZombieUSA's reasons for invoking the name of the radical 18th century deist pamphleteer Thomas Paine in this cheerful indie pop tune, you may find yourself either frustrated or confused. As far as I can tell, his name fits into these cryptic lyrics entirely because the name "Paine" and the word "pane" are homonyms. But nevermind all that; lyrical content is almost beside the point in a tune like this, with its giddy blend of twee electronica and mall-punk melody. As the song hits its peak on the chorus, the track feels like the silliest, most insanely fun moments of every bad teen movie ever made concentrated and shot through your nervous system.

Even if you've found yourself soured by indie rock's current trend toward over-arranged wimpiness, it's hard to resist the woozy, cozy charms of Carbon Dating Service's first full-length release. Piling up layers of horns, strings and keyboards like bed quilts on a cold winter night, the band's music seems like the logical output of a ten-piece collective of twentysomethings passing time in Saskatoon, Canada. "Dead Dogs Love Us Still" tugs softly on the heartstrings of canine lovers everywhere, unfolding at the pace of a Velvet Underground ballad with swelling strings and warm harmonies that either sound like a person in desperate need of a hug, or someone actually giving you one.