Gilligan's Island. Star Trek, Petula Clark. Lesley Gore, the Mashed Potato, the Supremes. Beach Blanket Bingo The way the B-52's handle these collisions is what makes them wild. They're connoisseurs of trash in a world full of it. To hear them is to lose yourself in the echo of pop arcana.

Wild Planet, the B-52's second record, is a welcome companion to their first. It begins with "Party out of Bounds." a song that immediately brings to mind such instant classics as "Rock Lobster" and "Dance This Mess Around" (cuts that made The B-52's the premier party album of the summer of '79). "Party out of Bounds" gets right to the point with a shower of breaking glass and a loud "Surprise!" Then it asks. "Who's to blame when parties really get out of hand?" The correct answer, obviously, is the B-52's.

"Party out of Bounds" notwithstanding. Wild Planet plainly lacks the relentless exuberance of the group's debut disc. This is partly a result of the production: flatter and duller sounding than its predecessor, the new LP doesn't attempt to dazzle Mostly, though. It's a case of sound following substance, because the doings on Wild Planet turn out to be a little bit creepy It's almost as if we're being treated to the "dark side" of the B-52's – their Twilight Zone as it were last year, we got "Planet Claire" and the Aqua Velvat this year, we get "Devil in My Cat" and "Quiche Lorraine" (Don't laugh. Qutche Lorraine is the name of a lost poodle) Now, in fact, we're served something of a B-52's noir Maybe "Party out of Bounds" was meant as a warning.

Certainly Wild Planet's second number is a signal that things are going to be different. "Dirty Back Road" is a track with a blacksnake for a bass line. a song that promises sports cars and sand in our hair but says. "Don't look back." When it's over, we've-been deposited somewhere in the sticks with nothing for relief but the chirping of crickets–a brittle sound that suggests a distinctly backwoods infinity. The tunes that follow are about misspent love and depression.

"Private Idaho" takes the form of a rebuke. "You're living in your own private Idaho." charges Fred Schneider, and as the girls pick up his refrain, he screams: "Get out of that state! Get out of the state you're in!" Stinging guitar notes strike like ice water across the face. As the instruments and voca