Since the dawn of 20th-century modernism, culture theorists have been claiming that the edgiest and maybe most significant artistic statements have come out of conflict, suffering, revolt, longing and some general need for self-expression. If that's the case, then who would believe that Finland-that idyllic Valhalla of socialistic democracy, uniformly high standards of living, low crime rates, scant pollution, children's book author Tove Jansson and poofy Guns 'N Roses prototypes Hanoi Rocks-would have spawned the most fascinating, vital and enduring art-rock unit of the past decade? CIRCLE who self-released their enlighteningly agitated debut 7-inch in 1991, come from the small city of Pori, a bucolic locale near the Gulf of Bothnia that's notable for hosting a fairly routine jazz festival. Since their first vinyl eruptions, they've been reinventing, expanding and refining their hypnotically repetitive music into a bewitching, instantly recognizable cross-pollination of megaton riffs, kraut-inspired rhythms, surging fuzz storms, icy synth drones and hymnal, contrastingly delicate vocals sung in a made-up language called Meronian. Their sharp instrumental prowess, revolving stylistic obsessions and berserker live shows have delighted and confused a growing cult of international thrill-seekers. Circle's bleak lockstep encapsulates the dark flip side of Finnish life-interminably black and frozen winters, mystical forests, isolation, bygone centuries of Swedish and Russian occupation, nervy architecture, mosquito plagues and a wonderfully difficult, non-Indo-European mother tongue. This is strange and beautiful stuff from a strange and beautiful place.