Since their 1987 resurrection, the blue-collar surrealists in Pere Ubu have strained all too hard to live in the real rock world – and as anyone who followed the first leg of their career can attest, that's the last place they belong. Story of My Life, however, lets their thousand quirks bloom: It sounds at once like a logical follow-up to the band's austere 1982 (temporary) farewell, Song of the Bailing Man, and a souvenir from a parallel-universe theme-park recording booth.

Ubu's is the friendly face of impenetrable art rock, every shortwave bleep and blank-verse flight tempered by a surf-guitar fillip or a bird-dance beat. Take "Wasted," which opens on woozy seachantey footing with frontman David Thomas squeezing out a melodeon line so lulling that his call for the band to "rock" sounds like a joke – until the ferocity of their response hits.

Thomas hasn't lost his silent-movie comedian's facility for tragicomic scenarios; he wrings laughs out of romantic rejection on "Postcard," a dizzy, stream-of-consciousness litany of catfish in top hats and flaming watermelons that reach the dead-letter office instead of the object of his desire. His plebeian warble adds real tenderness to "Heartbreak Garage" – a dustbowl entrepreneur's tale that drop-kicks Field of Dreams sentiment into the netherworld – so much so that even the baleful query "Where do the broken hearted park their cars?" seems perfectly reasonable.

Then again, songwriting hasn't ever been Ubu's problem: Story of My Life succeeds because, three albums on, they've finally exorcised the ghost of synth player/white noise guru Allen Ravenstine. Instead of filling in the fissures left by his uprooting, Al Clay's spare production widens them, which gives Jim Jones – one of today's most underappreciated guitarists – room to steal in, trailing big, buoyant chords ("Honey Moon") and snaky feedback leads ("Louisiana Train Wreck").

In an age when pop-culture vultures can't swallow art rock without a side of kitsch, it's good to taste the original recipe – warped, no chaser. (RS 663)

DAVID SPRAGUE