Some records are designed to be inaudible -- to linger in the murk around the base of your speakers, sketchy and indistinct, like songs heard echoing up a lonely stairwell or down a seemingly deserted street.

This is one of them. You'll struggle to adjust the volume as the Holy Sons' "Atrophy" plays, but give up -- you'll never get it right. You'll either be too close, as if you're right there in the band members' heads, or too far away. Both bands seem deliberately oblique; it's part of their charm.

Something about the Holy Sons -- perhaps the religious aspect of their name -- will prompt your subconscious to label them alt-country. You'll be wrong; despite the hints of twangy acoustic guitar/pedal steel/whatever that linger like fireflies around "Atrophy"'s cloud of gloom, this track sounds more like Nirvana on heavy meds than any post-punk twangfest. Sure, there's a pious moodiness at work that's reminiscent of Songs: Ohia, but "Atrophy" wants to be a rock song. The chorus hints at barely-restrained power, as if the band is eager to kick out the jams and blow your speakers with a hail of power chords, but it never happens. Perhaps, as the title suggests, the song lacks the muscular strength required to do so.

"Ghost Ego" takes a similar approach, though the reverb is cranked higher -- so high that every crackle of static sounds like water dripping into a well. Between its decisive but minimal lead guitar line and a burst of melodic multi-tracking on the chorus, "Ghost Ego" is actually more energetic than "Atrophy" -- but at 83 seconds, it has no time to go anywhere.

If you're not paying attention -- or even if you are, but you haven't looked too closely at the record sleeve -- you'll miss the transition from The Holy Sons to Dolorean. That's reasonable; at first, "Benito's Dust" is just spare piano and vocals. Details fill in as the tune unfolds: a guitar, simple snare and kickdrum percussion, and some vocal overdubs expand the canvas as the joyless narrative moves forward. It's a beautiful and moving song, but if you're prone to depression, don't listen 'til your pills kick in.

So that's the deal: you get three emotionally resonant tunes on a bottle-green 7" for about the price of a business lunch. C'mon -- you can eat a sandwich one day this week, can't you?