Health: Health

Spiritual, though not necessarily sonic,

descendants of Deerhoof, L.A.'s Health wields pop-propelled jolts and a sense

of experimental wonder that isn't afraid to dovetail innocence with menace.

It's as tricky as it is rewarding to pick bits of greatness out of the band's

self-titled debut; full of rattles of snare and sinister respiration, the drums

and vocals make for terra not-so-firma and an atmosphere that's alternately

perfumed and poisoned. There's a song called "Triceratops," but the group saves

the actual prehistoric squawks for "Zoothorns," while "Crimewave" jabs tribal

beats into gulping, galloping noise. But there are moments—as in the alien

anthem "Perfect Skin"—where the clenched static opens so gradually, it's

far too convenient to overlook the panoramic melody underneath.