Naofumi Ishimaru, A.K.A. Yximalloo, is a mysterious Japanese pop antipop-phenomenon, making minimal but satisfyingly strange music with electronics beats and all manner of gurgling, tweaky synthetic and vocals. The music is decidedly stripped down, the charm that makes his off-kilter vision appealing and embraceable: there's nothing pretentious about what he does, and it's clear that while he's serious about constructing his songs, the general aesthetic is light-hearted in a somewhat dense exposition. Which may sound contradictory, but that's a part of the warped seduction.

Unpop is Ishimaru's first album in 9 years, though he has more than 40 cassettes and a number of obscure CDs. Unlike previous albums, Ishimaru handles almost all of the parts on Unpop, with a little help from Chris Manz on one track. Ishimaru started working with samplers and rhythm boxes in the 80s, which probably explains the lower-fidelity sound quality that he prefers, perfectly complementing the juxtaposed rhythmic and audio elements that fuel each piece. It's a bit like being at a techno dance party on a depressant, moving in slow motion to a song that's taking place in your head in a scattered yet determined manner. Many of the songs seem fragmentary or sketchy, yet each is a well-contained universe that resolves subconsciously.

The music accommodates unlikely turns � a child's melody sinuously sneaks in and then fades away, rhythms collide and combine in ways that aren't quite right � but the components work within his frameworks with a shrewd wit that's difficult to identify but that ultimately fulfills. It's not jarring, but it's not complacent; it's not trying to prove itself idiosyncratic, but its innate weirdness is irrepressible. "Lav, Success & Helth" may be the perfect example: a short plundered collages introduces a fragmentary crash and collisions of electronic sounds, voices, pitch bending and tripping tones, occasionally making sense, mostly confounding, over a rolling beat that appears to be regular but is actually arrhythmic and slowly stuttered. It's cranky fun that's remarkably sophisticated while sounding like the homework that the sequencer ate.

While toiling in his obscurity, Ishimaru has collaborated with Jad Fair, whose artwork graces this and several of his other releases. Comparison between the two is appropriate, as both follow DIY principles and make extremely personal and un-self-conscious music, though Fair is a rocker at heart while Ishimaru aligns with technology, building his songs from thick and primitive drum rhythms and synthesized components. The music is intuitive but surprisingly sophisticated, a sort of distracted conversation that eventually gets to the point, but is unconcerned with its meandering methods. In fact, that's the fun, as Yximalloo's music slides in and out of perspective.