At some point in their career it seems that every monster arena rock band hears the same complaint—they just don’t rock as hard as they used to. And since the rise of hip-hop and electronic music it’s even easier for rock stars to unplug their guitars and pop open their laptops, which is precisely what happened to the Smashing Pumpkins in the late 1990s. The last time we heard from the band, Billy Corgan had traded the glistening guitar hooks and pile-driving prog-rock dynamics of the glory days for muddy, conceptual electro-goth—something Marilyn Manson was doing a much better job at circa 1998. Yes, the Pumpkins had officially stopped rocking, and as a result, what was once an alt-rock juggernaut had fizzled into nothingness by the start of the 21st century.

If you don’t have HBO, you are missing the funniest summer TV in years. New Zealand joke folk duo Flight of the Conchords’ self-titled program follows Bret McKenzie and Jermaine Clement playing fictional versions of themselves and their band as they haplessly try to gain momentum towards unlikely pop stardom. The wake of the show and its success finally brings the release of the band’s music, beginning with The Distant Future EP. The slow-grooving, hot sexy soul workout “Business Time”—aping Barry White, James Brown and Prince all in one—mocks the mundane inanities of the love ritual in the familiarity of coupledom. “The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room” is pure Prince gone haywire with acoustic guitars, as McKenzie and Clement pay tribute to the prettiest thing they can find within 10 feet. “If You’re Into It” is another cheeky sex ditty that plays down its irreverence with a bouncy, folk-pop innocence even while the duo will do what it takes to please the lady. The overly sensitive “Not Crying” has McKenzie trying to prove that he’s not sensitive at all. Of course, when he’s blaming his sobbing on cutting onions for some nonexistent lasagna, who’s he really kidding? The cod-Devo, end-of-the-world report “Robots” is a silly future repartee that celebrates the extermination of human kind from two smart-assed, computer-based life forms. The Conchords move beyond novelty act territory, as the Kiwi duo pulls off the highwire act of always writing damn perfect songs that they aren’t afraid to almost destroy with their sheer goofiness. They never destroy them, though, somehow. Even through gags sophomoric and lines that make you shake your head, you can’t help but love them. Bring on the studio full-length already, Conchords, and be sure it includes a recording of the geniusly Stardusted homage ”Bowie’s in Space.”