The members of the unpredictable Oklahoma band Flaming Lips have never done anything the easy way: Over the course of nine full-length albums and countless EPs, their music has been alternately and simultaneously freaked-out, acerbic, catchy, abrasive, self-indulgent and beautiful. As if to specifically alienate anyone who likes Flaming Lips just for one overexposed radio novelty ("She Don't Use Jelly," from 1993's Transmissions From The Satellite Heart), here's Zaireeka, one of the most challenging concept records to surface in ages. It's challenging in the most literal sense of the word: In order to listen to it the way it was meant to be heard, you have to play its four (!) discs simultaneously on separate CD players—with friends there to help you get the synchronization just right. How many "She Don't Use Jelly" fans are going to pay twice the price of a regular CD to do that? Those who do are in for a treat, once they're done going nuts with the logistics. There are no pop singles scattered throughout Zaireeka's 45 minutes, but there are noises and voices coming out of every corner of the room. A surprisingly elegant mixture of delicacy and cacophony, Zaireeka pulls tricks like "How Will We Know? (Futuristic Crashendos)," which lulls you on one disc, while boring holes in your skull with jarringly high and low frequencies on the others. (Of the song, the liner notes wisely warn: "These tracks should NOT be listened to repeatedly at high volume. Make sure infants are out of listening range. This track should not be listened to while driving," as if such a thing were possible.) Zaireeka isn't always easy to endure, but it's often stunning, and a must for Flaming Lips fans and especially adventurous audiophiles.