Soundbite: múm

A bit of advice: Stay away from poison ivy. And don’t smear it on anything.

You’ll regret it, which is also what will happen if you buy “Go Go Smear the Poison Ivy,” the latest offering from Icelandic electronic band múm. The decade-old band’s fourth album, while demonstrating the band’s talent at the mixing board, simply lacks soul.

Múm isn’t like most punk rock bands who intentionally try to sound bad but are ultimately driven by a sense of populism. “Go Go Smear the Poison Ivy” is sonic elitism, driven by a desire to be so esoteric that no one except those hipsters cool enough to “get it” can comprehend it. But if it has a point beyond cliquishness, I can’t see it. The real problem seems to be that múm doesn’t make me want to.

The album lacks any of the human spark that would encourage a new listener to try connect to their sound. The songs are impersonal, uninspiring and indifferent. In place of passion, there are repetitive synth beats and rhythm riffs. Instead of energy, there are lifeless, meandering vocal melodies.

Masters of the glitch beat and ethereal vocals, múm articulates little purpose beyond a desire to express their own strangeness. The sparse lyrics express little and, while hauntingly eerie and cryptic, are far from profound. Apparently this obscurity is intended to sound dramatic and insightful; instead it just sounds distant and pretentious.

“Go Go Smear the Ivy” opens with “Blessed Brambles,” a track that starts with a pleasant blend of traditional instrumentation ““ plucked strings and smooth violins that create a sound like the brambles in the title ““ before it is overwhelmed with glitch beats and hypnotic vocals that amount to little more than a repetition of the album title.

The album’s first single, “They Made Frogs Smoke ‘Til They Exploded,” is more upbeat but confused by the sampling of children singing nonsense, just as the electro-circus vibe of “Guilty Rocks” is lacquered over by plunking, childish vocals. “Rhuubarbidoo,” in line with its name, just sounds like nursery music.

And “A Little Bit, Sometimes” becomes a little bit annoying ““ sometimes ““ with its repetitive accordion and sing-song vocals.

Múm has moments, like the beautiful accretion in the intro of “Marmalade Fires.” But most songs alternate between empty space and overcrowding instrumentation, a cacophony of layered electronic beats and sounds covered with wispy vocals.

What makes music more than just notes, an album more than just a disc, is the passion of the musicians and the energy exchanged between performers and listeners ““ you won’t find that here.

Múm, in a fit of esotericism, just hasn’t made this music for you. They may be proud of themselves, but when it comes to the listener, all múm offers is poison ivy, something best avoided.

““ Kim Sanders

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