Y'know, it's totally fine for scientists to spend billions of dollars tinkering with the DNA strand of a worm. I have no problem with that. But what about the other mysteries of the human condition? What about those maladies that have nothing to do with genetics, aging, or alcohol intake? What about the mystery of spontaneous, inappropriate dancing? True, one can make the case that no one has ever died from spontaneous, inappropriate dancing, but does this mean it's to be ignored? Isn't the scientific community at least curious about what happens when a juicy hook comes on the radio, and the subject temporarily experiences an uncontrolled loss of inhibition, which then leads to involuntary muscle movement, and eventually dancing?

Now, if I were such a scientist, I would gather together a group of test subjects who have big sticks up their butts during the ordinary course of their day. Then I would put them in a locked room, pump in music from the new Boycrazy CD, Foreign Words (Magic Marker Records), and track how long it takes for the group to start shaking that backfield and have more fun than a beaver at an ass-slapping convention.

Oh, sure, there are other CDs one might use in an experiment such as this, but I ask you: WHY BOTHER? Boycrazy is the perfect accompaniment for all sorts of inappropriate dancing, thanks largely to the snap-snappy snare-work of drummer Rachel Blumberg, the pump-pumpy bass lines of Jeff London, and the jing-jang-jingle of guitars courtesy of Alan Harris and Bryce Edwards.

While most of the songs smack of '60s and '70s pop--from the Petula Clarkesque lyrics of "Stark Street" and the Partridge Familyesque ba-ba-ba-ba's of "Apartments"--the lyrics and advanced musicianship take these songs past mere nostalgia. For example, "Bad Things" may employ hooks courtesy of The Archies, but its smart and horny lyrics leave its hilariously poppy veneer in the dust.

And, agreed; there is such a thing as "too much fun." However, Boycrazy tempers their shake 'n' shimmy with sweet slow-downs that remind you that the sad-happy ache of love and life is never far away. And that's the main problem with science: It reduces humans to mere parts. But Boycrazy reminds us that finally, it ain't DNA that makes the booty bounce.