Frank Zappa once derided the American consumer by quipping that Americans experience music as an accoutrement to their lifestyles. That may be true, but –- to sidestep the obvious question of how the denizens of other nations experience their music -– thinking of music in terms of its utility and function can be a useful exercise. Some records are perfect to study to. Others provide the perfect soundtrack for a long drive, or a vigorous and sweat drenched work out, or the faux-cosmopolitanism of a dinner party with your now-balding college drinking buddies as guests, etc.

Songs from the City on the Sun by Oakland’s Boy in the Bubble seems to defy function. It is hard to imagine a situation that the record would suit perfectly. Musically interesting without fumbling too far toward the follies of overeager experimentalism, this is a solid pop record seemingly content with its lack of a place in the world. Find the perfect time and place to listen to this record, one that can be repeated by anybody, and I’ll buy you a milkshake.

While not precisely a genre-hopper, the record ricochets between the caterwauling 1950s-influenced guitar swells of “Danger,” the bratty sneering, foot stomping, and accordion whine of “When You Walk Around This City,” and the pedal-steel drenched dirge of “I Can’t Remember.” Boy in the Bubble takes a risk in appropriating such a wide range of sounds and influences, but Songs from the City on the Sun remains surprisingly consistent. The record has something pleasantly reminiscent of 1990s Brit-pop acts like Kula Shakur (though I wouldn’t go so far as to compare it to the finer acts of the era such as Pulp, Stone Roses, and Blur).

Songs from the City on the Sun is at its worse when its empty-headed songwriting is privileged over its hooky musicality, and lead singer Josh Seidenfeld’s voice seems stretched beyond its limits at times. But, on the whole, it’s a pretty good pop record and worth a listen.