It's not shocking, not even that insulting, to call most Americans inherently ethnocentric. Especially in terms of Billboard Top 40 acceptance, most hits derive from artists flashing their cosmetically enhanced, glow-in-the-dark, made in the U.S.A. smile. The Latin Explosion and British Invasion can't even be listed as prominent counterexamples, as border control forced these artists to hire an American stylist, an American publicist and an American attitude before entering mainstream airwaves.

Most musicians who carry a sound distinct of their home turf, therefore, have a tendency to remain in the frame of familiarity, refusing to see past the fence that encloses their country. Germany's Robocop Kraus, however, obtained a passport and plane ticket and flew across the mighty Atlantic, landed a record deal with Epitaph Records and began searching for success.

Unfortunately, though, the Robocops were almost instantly swallowed by the biting reality that rules the American musical scene — unless receiving public displays of praise from Diddy, there's no chance for new artists these days unless they're willing to suck up their pride, suck in their bellies and shake hands with selling-out.

So Robocop Kraus left the Land of Opportunity and settled in Stockholm, where they recorded their latest release, They Think They Are the Robocop Kraus. Working with The Hives producer Pelle Gunnerfeldt, the Nuremburg band recorded a brassy, confident album that led to loads of sold out European shows, loads of European rewards, loads of European fans and a drizzle of American recognition.

Not implying that anyone who isn't attracted to Robocop's style of music is automatically deserving of an ignorant nationalist label. The core of the group's sound squeezes the Euro-staple techno, a genre of music most Americans list under the "everything but" category when asked to cite their favorite music.

But Robocop Kraus offers more than the computerized craft of techno; they accompany their synthesized melodies with biting vocals, making their music fitting not only for all-night discos, but also for those moments of solitude, as the background melody for days of reflection.

The Robocops kick off their album with "After Laughter Comes Tears." Far from the record's best track, it sounds almost like Smash Mouth karaokeing to a Barry Manilow ballad. Still, there's something hiding under the surface, an entrancing comical sound that makes the track almost shakable.

The next few tracks still flirt with annoyance, but carry such an unusual voice it's hard to turn off. The repetition of the line "Before it becomes kind of mechanical" on the track "Picture You" masks the otherwise sharpness of this sassy hook. The following "You Don't have to Shout" similarly doesn't offer much lyrical diversity, but fluctuates brilliantly in tempo, adds intermittent clapping and screams energy, making it an animated tailgate anthem.

Perhaps labeling the Robocops as a less-poppy version of The Killers would encourage otherwise hesitant listeners. Sure, unlike The Killers, the Robocops, on occasion, sabotage their vocals and raw instruments by drowning them in disco dazzle, but both groups belong under the razor punk-disco genre and their music provokes the similar "suicidal smile" body ache.

The album's best offering, "Man's Not a Bird" will ripple at listener's souls with an empowering organ (or computerized organ) anchoring the track, while "Concerned, Your Secular Friends" similarly tugs at transcendence with a vocal layering iced with a seductive chorus.

Lyrically, however, the album lacks, especially when learning the band is known as social commentators throughout Europe. Each song carries about three stolid lines and repeats them to an obnoxious degree. And let's all hope the lyrical depth was lost in translation and the obtuse, inflated lines like "When I'm back you will go out with me at night/Watch out he's got a knife" and "We're thrown into an existence machine/And spat out." Oh and thanks lads, for pointing out that a man's not a bird. Now that's inspirational.

They Think They Are the Robocop Kraus is the band's fifth studio recorded album and their major-label debut, revealing itself during the height of the Franz Ferdinand-led new wave, neo-punk revolution. The timing, however, might deter rather than encourage the band's chance of success. Competing against a sea of eager, more conventional rivals, Robocop Kraus has a better chance of drowning than surfacing.

Unless wanting to shell out $15 for the sake of cultural competence, there exists no dire need to flood the record stores to buy They Think They Are the Robocop Kraus. But just don't ignore or automatically dismiss their alien, unconventional sound if it ever does win over Ryan Seacrest's tainted heart and finds its way to Top 40 recognition. With an open mind, Robocop Kraus might, just might, rattle your ethnocentric world.

3/5