VNV Nation

Futurepop pioneers VNV Nation bring their 1984 imagery to Studio A on Thursday for an all-ages show. The band, made up of Londoners Ronan Harris and Mark Jackson, has taken its time in becoming electronic music's next big thing: They've been together since 1990.

But let's back up a second, to the term "futurepop." Fact is, the electronic music underground is still working the bugs out of its nomenclature. Fans argue back and forth about whether a particular song is representative of "futurepop," "industrial," "EBM," "darkwave," or any one of the other dozen alleged genres that have sprung up. Of course, when VNV Nation blows up — and that's just a matter of time, with songwriters like Ronan Harris around — its music will no doubt be referred to simply as "techno."

Given VNV Nation's uncanny ability to touch the heart as deftly as the ears, "futurepop" is the correct label for the band. One need only hear a few lines of Harris's smoky, Steve Winwood-like croon to recognize its potential for huge success. The band's 2005 album, Matter + Form, featured a couple of breathtaking songs, namely "Chrome" (a stomping dancefloor filler Genesis might have written, had Phil and company been born during the late Seventies) and the heart-tugging ballad "Endless Skies." If VNV had been working under the whip of a major label, it's likely that all the songs on the disc would have been so radio-friendly. But (as with all its albums) Matter boasted quite a few bouncy instrumentals. The pair's new album, Judgment, hits streets this month, and it will be interesting to hear in which direction they've decided to point themselves.

One thing that adds flair to their sound is their software weapon of choice. Reaktor, not the ubiquitous Pro Tools, is their preference, and it lends an orchestral crunch to their sound. In a live setting, Harris is an irrepressible comedian, forever tossing out dry observations in his light Irish brogue (sample: "Yes indeed, every one of us is different. You can tell because we're all wearing black."). His partner in crime, Jackson, works a stand-up set of electronic percussion, playing up the crowd like a spazzy Silent Bob.