Meeting strangers at social events, I've learned not to say that I write about hi-fi for a living. It's generally a conversation killer&mdash;unless your idea of scintillating repartee is "People make a <I>living</I> doing that?" (Short answer: Not many, and not really.)

Meeting strangers at social events, I've learned not to say that I write about hi-fi for a living. It's generally a conversation killer&mdash;unless your idea of scintillating repartee is "People make a <I>living</I> doing that?" (Short answer: Not many, and not really.)

Meeting strangers at social events, I've learned not to say that I write about hi-fi for a living. It's generally a conversation killer&mdash;unless your idea of scintillating repartee is "People make a <I>living</I> doing that?" (Short answer: Not many, and not really.)

Meeting strangers at social events, I've learned not to say that I write about hi-fi for a living. It's generally a conversation killer&mdash;unless your idea of scintillating repartee is "People make a <I>living</I> doing that?" (Short answer: Not many, and not really.)

Meeting strangers at social events, I've learned not to say that I write about hi-fi for a living. It's generally a conversation killer&mdash;unless your idea of scintillating repartee is "People make a <I>living</I> doing that?" (Short answer: Not many, and not really.)

The Jeff Gauthier Goatette’s <I>House of Return</I>, on the L.A.-based <A HREF= "http://cryptogramophone.com/"&gt; Cryptogramophone</A> label, is one of the most sinuously pleasing albums I’ve heard in a while. I confess that I haven’t followed this quirky label or its roster of musicians as closely as I should have, but I intend to make up for lost time. The Goatette (don’t ask me why it’s called that—there are five musicians, so it’s not even a Dada play on “quartet”) consists of Gauthier, violin; Nels Cline, guitar; David Witham, piano; Joel Hamilton, bass; and Alex Cline, drums. The way each of them weaves in and out of different tempos, rhythms, and chart-parts (shifting effortlessly from melody-line to chords to between-bar filigree to sonorous atmospherics) is astonishing. The songs range from mysterious ballads to electric rock, with much in between, sometimes within the same song. There’s wit in the compositions and breeziness in the ensemble work, but there’s no fooling around; the air is loose, but the motion is surefooted and the hand-offs are tight, like a Mondrian painting but with more indigo color. Nels Cline is the player I’m most familiar with; he may be second to Marc Ribot as the most versatile jazz guitarist on the block, and it’s due mainly to him that, when the band rocks, it really does rock; it doesn’t sound like some tame fusion-y rock. But the softer tunes have a rich melancholy, an off-centered swing, and a hazy core of blues. The engineering is very good, capturing the tones and overtones of all the instruments and the bloom of the mix.