Spawned from the same darkened and weird tune pools as Ariel Pink, John Maus has emerged from the sonic muck to near the top of the minimal electro crooner heap. On his third disc, the Minnesotan Maus bares his soul in search of the perfect song as he hears it in his bobbled head, a kaleidoscope of swirling keyboard memories of melodies, groovy bass lines, creaking drum machine marches, emotionally charged robo-vocals and a fuck-you punk-rock take on it all. Equal parts experimental, performance art and pop music, John Maus will confound you. And that’s his plan.