Ah, progressive rock. It's a genre music fans either worship or want to beat up after school.

For many, it's just an easier way of saying "unnecessarily ridiculous nerd rock." Because complicated time signatures, 20-minute song suites with multiple parts (why not just make them separate tracks?) and guys who wear medieval outfits and think they are wizards are, admittedly, unnecessarily ridiculous and nerdy.

For music fans that like to challenge themselves and can put up with a little cheese, however, prog rock makes sense. Unpredictable compositions keep us on our toes, longer songs just mean more music, and, let's face it, Rick Wakeman's silver capes are cool, in the same way that the "Magic Bullet" infomercial is the coolest thing on television.

Still, the sometimes over-the-top nature of the genre begs the question: Is any of it really genuine?The Mars Volta's second album, Frances The Mute, seriously begs that question. It could easily be the most pretentious release of the year, from its multi-sectioned tracks to its Storm Thorgerson abstract artwork (hint: this is the same guy that worked with Pink Floyd). But anyone who has seen Cedric Bixler-Zavala and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, the two brains behind the operation, can vouch that these guys really mean what they have to say musically. It's difficult not to take a guy seriously when he, in a frenzy of rockstardom and musical ecstasy, narrowly misses his band mates while spinning his guitar around. And it's tough to argue with a guy that can throw his mic in the air, swing it a few times, catch it by the cord, pull it to his lips and lick it before singing the song's next line. Even without knowing that stuff, Frances is bursting with musical integrity. The four-part opener, "Cygnus ... Vismund Cygnus" pounces on the listener with more ferocity than any other rock release in recent memory. The track settles into a complicated groove under an expressive guitar solo and builds up to an explosion that's just as intense eight minutes later. The intensity doesn't disappear on the next two tracks, the accessible but still respectable "The Widow" and "L' Via L' Viaquez," which contains a Latin section that seems even more genuine than Antonio Banderas singing at the Oscars. It's not easy to place a three-minute ballad next to a 12-minute shapeshifter, but The Mars Volta pulls it off. That's what progressive rock is all about.

That's the thing, though. "Progressive" isn't just a meaningless, pretentious term anymore -- The Mars Volta is actually pushing the genre farther ahead than any digital keyboard or electronic drum has in 20 years. But there are still some problems. In the past, listeners cringed at lyrics about mystic mountains and cosmic warriors; Bixler-Zavala's updated poetry doesn't really answer any questions, but at least it sounds cooler ("those nicotine stains on his every word / my scavenger quilt will only hide the truth"). No, the lyrics aren't really the problem anymore. Instead, the listener is forced to sit through and, presumably, take seriously at least 12 minutes of what could only be defended as "artistic noise." One can imagine that a typical Mars Volta practice contains several hours worth of what we can call "Omar's time." It is during this time that the guitarist/producer emerges from an intense jam, places down his six-stringer and heads over to a console of pretty flashing lights and dials. He then manipulates noises while the rest of the band either watches in awe or goes upstairs for pizza or Bactine for those guitar wounds. Yes, it is unfortunate that a large chunk of ambience could have been trimmed from this album, which would have resulted in a clearer musical focus. As demonstrated by the 30-minute-plus closing suite, "Cassandra Geminni," some of this music is incredible and some of it is too meandering or experimental. But when it hits the mark, Frances The Mute speaks for itself.