Between network TV-approved indie-poppers, garage rock hangers-on, crunkified and emofied MCs and New Weird America's psychedelic and sludgy provocateurs, pop music has taken on a bizarre, somewhat unforeseen face over the last few years, and has mutated into a beast that belongs entirely to the '00s. As strange as it is to see Sufjan Stevens, Conor Oberst and Slug as new national treasures, though, Barbez stand at the fore of a scene that, in theory, would resonate with middle America about as positively as a pack of transgendered Middle Eastern terrorists pleasuring one another with pocket-sized editions of sacred texts: cabaret punk. If you think back to high school, you'll remember that the Stoppard-quoters never mingled with the buttflap-sporters, let alone with the popular kids, but The Dresden Dolls are wringing out their misery in whiteface on tour with Nine Inch Nails, Gogol Bordello's ethno-punk has become a fixture among the shopping mall set, and Barbez create art that is at once cavalier in its individualism and grounded in a set of sonic tropes that could chip into the most hardened of listeners' hearts.

Insignificance is the New York ensemble's third and most rewarding exploration of the space between Brecht, Fugazi and Naked City, with space being the operative word. This cast of musicians is more than a flock of theatre club mavericks; as they've grown together, they've drifted away from overt theatricality and have begun to probe something deeper. In a burgeoning genre that places heavy emphasis on performance and complementing the aural experience with a visual one, Barbez have sunk into the dank recesses of the album. Whereas The Dresden Dolls or Gogol Bordello are as much about seeing and experiencing as they are hearing, Barbez's aesthetic is now purely sonic. Forget caveats about flat recordings coming alive in concert -- you need only sit down with a pair of headphones to "get" Insignificance.

In addition to increasing the distance between the performer, the art and the listener, this record's compositions themselves demonstrate a surprising subtlety and spaciousness. You'd think that an album imbued with the intensity and fullness of a live performance would compensate with tricked out production and outbursts of sheer violence, but Barbez chart their course with a gentle hand. They're still loud and busy on a regular basis, but their payoffs come in the eye of the storm; Insignificance's strongest scenes behave more like Charalambides or Mark Hollis than Nick Cave or PJ Harvey.

Their rendition of Brecht's "Song of the Moldau" is the album's first instance of triumph in restraint. A few heavy lunges suggest that Barbez will ham it up at some point, but that point never comes; instead, we're treated to beautiful interplay between Pamelia Kurstin's theremin, Danny Tunick's marimba and special guest The Lonesome Organist. It's dancing in your head rather than on the stage.

"A Melancholy Picnic" captures the band at their most delicate. A few drum rolls fire off deep in the mix, but the percussion mostly consists of sprinkling cymbals. Tender guitar notes complement the chiming cymbals, sounding as though they're about to melt, and the theremin ripples gently, creating a thin veil over the song's emotional nakedness. This "Picnic" is so beautiful that it justifies the album on its own.

If Insignificance has one problem, it's that so much of it feels wasted. Barbez absolutely nail it with their faint, fine sketches, but they tend to color over the same spot. It's particularly blatant in "Pain", which opens magnificently -- spry marimba, symphonic theremin, Carlos/Eno-esque electronic textures, loads of ambiguousness and silence -- but soon cycles through a series of uninspired louder sections which go on for upwards of five minutes. As soon as Barbez strike a loud chord, they say everything that their electric guitar can say -- but they can't leave well enough alone, stretching their more rocking segments out. Their billowing crescendos are never heavy-handed, but they're always monotonous, and they cast an unpleasant shadow over the otherwise gripping music.