Mind Spiders-- whose self-titled debut was conceived almost entirely by frontman Mark Ryan during downtime from his gig in the Denton, Tex., outfit Marked Men-- don't present themselves as a particularly careful or calculating act. Playing fast and loose, Mind Spiders exist in a universe where the Flaming Sideburns never crumbled under the weight of garage rock revival excitement, where pulse-quickening legends Jay Reatard and (fellow Dirtnap Records alums) the Exploding Hearts never met their tragic ends. The songs on Mind Spiders are energetic but not in-your-face, fun but not goofy, sharp but not stifled, wild but not boorish. In essence, it's a rock record that pulls no punches, and it's all the more endearing because of it.

Mind Spiders define their sound right out of the gate, sporting tightly-wound, zoetropic riffs that sound blasted from sand-filled amps. There's also a touch of B-movie fetishism thrown in-- sci-fi sound effects are not just fillers; they carry melodies, with mummy-movie organs and squiggly ray-gun feedback contributing some Plan 9 camp. Add a little glammy pomp and a healthy amount of the Ramones' bop, and you've got a ripping collection of songs.

When Ryan branches out a little, the results are equally appealing. "Read Your Mind" is a soft-waltzing ballad, reminiscent of the kind of 1950s slow-dance moves that plenty of lo-fi dabblers have shown a weakness for recently. But like the rest of Mind Spiders, there's something simple and genuine about the approach-- when Ryan is whooping it up, he's isn't thumbing his nose at anyone. Conversely, when he slows things down or tries on a little psych-channeled blues ("Slippin' And Slidin'"), you don't get the sense he's mining for cheap nostalgia.

Ultimately, Mind Spiders is tailor-made for those of us who value that four-on-the-floor reverie above all else. "Don't Let Her Go" feels akin to Reatard's Blood Visions with a pop-smart bent, and "Neurotic Gold" is... exactly that. "One Step Ahead" embodies the broken heart at punk's center, taking a crestfallen turn without letting the rhythm slow-- a terrific little song, but one that might have you sneaking a peek at your watch every so often. And almost right on cue, in kicks "No. 3", a rocket-fueled Radio Birdman homage that makes you wish the record were twice as long.

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