Davan

Modern experimental music is usually esoteric, with feedback freakouts and atonal vocals scaring away audiences that might otherwise appreciate the artistry. Sonic Youth fans don’t all love formless squallfests such as the one that closed the band’s Uptown Theater show last year, but they tolerate the potential for cacophony in any given tune. By contrast, Lawrence’s Davan uses entirely accessible pop components to make its nonlinear songs. Its closest art-rock antecedent is Queen, not King Crimson. “Forest, Park, Landscape,” a typical Davan track, incorporates moody film-score piano, a harmonica-xylophone hybrid instrument, a dance beat, frequent drum rolls, a coronet and a cappella harmonies. Occasionally, something sounds askew — voices veer off-key, piano keys suffer indelicate poundings — but the group’s surging bass lines and Strokes-style guitar jangles are catchy enough to cancel out the imperfections. Such supporting elements are often more memorable than the vocal hooks, which owe their staying power to relentless repetition rather than melodic construction or charismatic delivery. Nevada is a Frankenstein’s monster of an album; stitched together from random parts, the whole is oddly appealing, despite the screws in its skull.