Thanks to the high-decibel exposure I’ve been getting from local bands, harder and harder rock is appealing to me more and more. So The Sammus Theory came to the top of the stack at just the right time. Great sounds riding the edge of metal and lyrics riding the edge of insanity.

I almost didn’t get past the fourth track on the CD because the 2, 3 and 4 tracks were so compelling and brain-frying I kept putting them on a loop. “Lead Foot” is the best tortured romantic love song I’ve heard in eons - and believe me, I know eons. Here’s a taste:

“You try to drag me but I’m weighted
with my lead foot.
A ball and chain around my legs slows me down,
I cannot seem to move.
Drop me up from so high into water …
Watch me drown; you’re my lead foot.”

Beautiful, I know (sniff). Sammus, responsible for both lyrics and manic vocals, has a unique twist to his words that speaks to a deeper part of my brain. And I’m not so strange. I think your brains must have those dark little holes you crawl into sometimes and hey, here’s the background music for that space.

“Hole In the Wall” is a perfect example of speaking volumes with few words.

“Your last breath cried out loud.
It was a bullet hole in the wall.
No one really understood
What pulled the trigger …”

Although the first half of “Man Without Eyes” is much stronger and memorable than the second half, my greatest whining complaint is that I was sent the radio-edited, clean version of the lyrics. Should an independent CD even have a clean version? Did they send the sanitized version because I’m a chick? Did I come off as a prude in my past reviews? I must look into this while you look into The Sammus Theory.

I always cringe when I get a CD from British boy singers (even when they’re actually American). I never think I’m going to break open the next Beatles or Rolling Stones, instead, I’m terrified of another Oasis. You remember them - the pseudo-alternative, pseudo-intelligent, pseudo-fill-in-the-blanks band that ruined radio for seven months or so.

Obligatory British Villains is not Oasis. For one thing, there’s a woman in there, though her presence is hardly felt. For another, O.B.E. is light on pretentiousness. What’s left? Hooky, smooth, made-to-be-pop music.

The misspelled “Alright” opens the gig and sets the tone for the entire CD. The music is lush, every instrument is layered somehow to make it sound like it’s the lead. That’s hard to pull off without creating the cacophony of say, dueling lead guitars, but it happens and it works. Anywhere I feel a touch of electronica I feel warm and happy. But my happiness doesn’t last.

Robin Locksley writes and sings the songs. All the songs. All in the same tone. The freshness of the music, which is really wicked left alone, gets bogged down in his unrelenting comfort zone.

Still, some of these tunes are unforgivably catchy. I don’t really care for the lackluster vocals of “Garden,” yet this is the song I find myself humming hours later. And I hate it.

“I’ve gotta strange feeling/I’ve been here before …” opens the song “Remember,” and at this point in the CD, we’re all feeling that. By now Locksley’s voice is the monotonous drone of the obsessive/compulsive neighbor’s vacuum cleaner and I want to get one of those karaoke vocal extractors so I can listen to only the music.

The rest of the CD passes on, creating an annoyingl aural itch impossible to scratch. It’s sad. Oasis had no talent to waste, so who cared. Obligatory British Villains’ music is incredible and so I care.

But if you like a certain amount of predictability in your music, you might find this perfect. I’d recommend any of the songs, taken at a single dose. The full CD is an OD waiting to happen. Pick and choose at www.cdbaby.com/cd/obv or www.robinlocksley.com.