In performance, they are mesmerizing. Miracle and Kubin intently man their racks of keyboards, patch bays and power books, while at the front of the stage Strean, with a smile borrowed from Doris Day in Pillow Talk, paces and lets her flexible voice float up and down dizzy staircases of melody. Behind the group, on a large screen, a fast-changing video collage of geometric shapes, colors and computer-generated images pulsate in time with the music. Overall, it’s a sumptuous feast for the senses. “When we write, it’s very much like a jam session,” says Miracle. The band let their influences mingle and get to know each other: Henri Matisse, meet Kraftwerk . . . Tomita, this is Burt Bacharach . . . Thomas Dolby, say hello to Debbie Reynolds. Debbie Reynolds? It’s Strean who brings the Unsinkable Molly Brown-style pluckiness to the mix. “One person described us as Peggy Lee singing with Orbital,” she laughs. “Growing up, I Iistened to a lot of show music and movie musicals. I like that mixture of incredibly sad lyrics but with kind of a bright and shiny veneer.” The result of this happy collision of tastes and talents is the dozen songs (plus one remix) that make up Venus Hum’s self-titled debut. From the bold, clattering melodic assault of “Sonic Boom” to the Bjork-like throb of “Run Annie Run,” they offer up a sound plump with unstoppable grooves and hooks. The hypnotically precise “Illumine” is like a soundtrack for a Paul Klee painting, while the lilting bounce and folkish simplicity of “Wordless May” make it sound like a hands down, instant classic. Throughout the disc, Miracle and Kubin’s expertly programmed Moogs, A.R.P.’s and their oscillating brethren bleep and bloop in sympathy with Strean’s dreamy voice, creating an intricate balm that both soothes and stirs. Kubin sums up the sound, “We’re a pop band that uses electronics to convey the message along with the melody and the words.”