Ziakas claims to take their name from the first person killed in the Chernobyl disaster. Does this leave you any wiser about their music? Not really. They might be a smart-assed local pop band, or a prog-leaning metal band... You simply can't tell by their name. So when you pop The Theory of Everything in the CD player for the first time, it's something of a leap of faith. And like many such leaps, it's rewarded in grand style.

Imagine Sonic Youth playing light-hearted, unpretentious pop songs. Imagine the B-52s produced by Steve Albini. Imagine Hole covering the Spice Girls. Any of these descriptions fits, to some extent. Vocalist Erin updates the punk rock girl singer archetype, alternating between sweet, coquettish cheer and sneering scorn. Though Erin seems more than willing to stray off-key if the song's prevailing attitude requires it, she's a solid musical presence. And that's important, because the group's seriously fuzzed-out guitar and bass attack would easily sweep away a lesser performer.

To put it mildly, Ziakas like their effects pedals. The guitar on "Bottom of the Lake" is barely recognizable as a stringed instrument, and the resonant rumble of the bass continues well beyond the song's ending. Played on a respectable stereo system, The Theory of Everything's thick, fuzzy, throbbing sonic excess will shake your furniture and do minor damage to your internal organs. Drummer Paul backs up the attack, battering a kit that sounds like it was made from inch-thick steel. You can feel his rhythms from several rooms away.

Ziakas keeps relatively mum about their electronic toys. It's obvious that much of the record is digitally enhanced -- from the kazoo-like keyboard whistling heard on "Supergirl" and "Booteen", among others, to the looped melody and rhythm of "This is Tomorrow" -- but you won't mind. You'll be too busy hoping your speakers can withstand another spin. Straightforward pop tunes like "Latitude" and the aforementioned "Booteen" rub elbows with fuzzed-out folk metal ("It's All Worth You") and crunchy pop ballads ("19"), and through it all, marvelously tactile textures abound.

Ziakas' innovations don't stop at their music; their attractive, intricate diecut packaging includes a unique number and code, allowing the disc to be registered at their website. Mind you, we're living in the Microsoft era, so I'll never acknowledge registration as anything but a blatant play for demographic information, but to their credit, they make good on the "free gift" promised to all who log their copies of the disc (and it's actually worth having).

Unless you're a fan of unusual packaging, you might not look twice at The Theory of Everything if you see it on your record store's New Releases shelf, let alone stumble across it while exploring the "Z" section's lonely post-Zappa ghetto. So please, allow me to encourage you: make the effort to track this one down. There are treasures at the end of the alphabet.