By Aeron Bergman

German/Venezuelan Yvonne Cornelius gives us a masked vision of herself. Her lovely yet creepy voice lilts in and out of lands both made-up and real. Playing with sentimentality, yet never really reaching bloody heart troubadoura status, she moves us around sound stage sets as in a guided ghost tour. "Radio Mexico" pops and gurgles: a cheesy organ and plucked strings backup an animated flower head chorus.

(This track reminds me of the painfully silly scene in Rodreguez's "El Mariachi" in which a guitar troubadour is denied employment at a Cantina because they prefer their casio keyboard with preprogrammed Mexicali tunes.)

Technically a fertile mix between computer programming and simple songwriting, these songs feel plastic, yet human.

There are moments where I am not convinced by our tour guide's inclusion of certain ghastly stories: "Just night tonight/A last talk" contains a bass and coyote whelping combination a bit too wacky to swallow, and I rolled my eyes a bit.

However, the CD is only 25 minutes; we are not dealing with diary-length indulgence. Niobe gives a lot of herself, but not too much.