By Jeremy Kressmann

For the Daily

Chances are you've eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Right? Even if you didn't like it, ever thought about who the hell decided to put the two ingredients together? The same question applies to Mexican electronic outfit Titan. Founded by Jay de la Cueva, Julian Lede and Emilio Acevedo in the early '80s, Titan's sound is an intriguingly "peculiar" mix of strange synth loops, drum machines, funked-out electro bleeps and vocals that seamlessly blend English and Spanish. On Elevator, the group stuffs their Mexican and Latino influences into a suitcase and literally makes a run for the border.

The disc comes across like a Mexican Beastie Boys cover band trying to make songs while simultaneously playing a game of Centipede on their Atari. The collaboration is at times a perfect blend, at others a semi-tedious mess of noise. The track "Corazón," Titan's remake of Carole King's song of the same name, introduces a smooth and swanky horn loop, while a mellow female chorus croons, "Yo te quiero, mi corazón." The track emanates with a hip, seductive vibe, never forcing you to listen, instead drawing the listener in with its exotic siren song.

Other tracks like "1, 2, 3, 4" get you grooving, then taper off into something resembling the theme of a cheesy TV detective show. Titan's problem on tracks like this one stem from their innovative qualities. Instead of pleasing, these same qualities leave you stranded, waiting for the intro's groovy loop.

"La Frecuencia del Amor" begins with an eerie squiggle of mesmerizing electro sounds. As it progresses the rhythm picks up, steadily pushing you towards its retro-organ crescendo, then blasts right through, fueled by the momentum of a distorted guitar loop. The song pushes ahead towards unknown musical boundaries and Titan seems to be much the same, unafraid of what musical oddities might lie ahead.

Grade: A-