There’s this old saying about good and bad publicity. It’s a cliché really and it hardly matters a lick whether it’s true or not, though I suspect it is a large percentage of the time. If Mel Gibson weren’t so unpleasant perhaps I’d ask him how he felt about the idea.

‘Say Mel if you call your girlfriend a whore, threaten her with violence, and then take a rhetorical flamethrower to a wide swath of humanity does that help open a film?’

To hell with Mel Gibson though. I only bring him up because I was thinking about how much I ought to read/watch about M.I.A. before listening to the new album “Maya.” I really wanted to take in the much anticipated record on it’s own merits. It’s a challenge to say the least. The much talked about Mathangi Arulpragasam has been painted as everything from a terrorist sympathizer to just another rich girl with a taste for Truffle French Fries (whatever those are). I didn’t even watch the reportedly ultra violent video for “Born Free.” And so stewing happily in my self-imposed ignorance I found “Maya” an occasionally interesting, but mostly dopey mess.

The album opens with the “The Message,” which seems to be that the government controls us through the Internet. I’d like to think I’m not interesting and/or threatening enough to be bothered with, but perhaps I can understand why the daughter of a Sri Lankan Civil War combatant might feel as though the NSA reads our thoughts 140 characters at a time.

“Steppin Up” follows and is built literally with power tools and a brain bouncing thump. All that clamor obscures a throw away lyric. The new single “XXXO” is by contrast quite catchy, but fouled by the impossibly dumb line:

“A knock at the door
And then we hit the floor
And all I know is you leave me wanting more
I don’t let it show
But I think you know
‘Cause you tweeting me like tweety bird on your iPhone”

I thought she was smarter than that, but maybe not. “Teqkilla” goes on forever and says nothing either. In fact the lyrics could have been lifted from the annual report of liquor distiller Seagrams. M.I.A.’s boyfriend is the son of onetime Seagram’s’ CEO Edgar Bronfman and thus:

“When I met Seagram he sent Chivas down my spine”

Good God that’s irredeemable.

When all is said and done “Lovalot” will end up being the track to win M.I.A. the most ire. “I fight the ones that fight me” she monotones dropping everything from the Taliban to Unicef into the track. I’d like to say I could draw any meaning out of it, but it seems designed for misinterpretation.

“Story To Be Told” didn’t register for me, but M.I.A.’s cover of an obscure Danish new wave song “It Takes A Muscle” is a bit of fun. “It Iz What It Iz” seems to channel Bjork. The aforementioned “Born Free” is anchored on the proto-industrial throb of genre pioneers Suicide and their track “Ghost Rider.” Martin Rev’s synth pounding propels M.I.A. into a righteous snit and proves to be album’s standout track.

“Meds And Feds” rocks a bit too thanks to a pounding rhythm track and looped metal guitar stabs. I’m pretty sure it’s some sort of statement lyrically, but leaves me scratching my head. Ditto for “Tell Me Why.” She doesn’t know.

And so M.I.A. floats into “Space” amongst some squiggly gurgles sounding more like a kid dreamily singing to her stuffed animal collection.

In the end I think what M.I.A. might have been aiming for was some kind of rant on… ah the hell with it. I have no idea what she was on about on this often-disappointing record. I actually thought some of the sounds cooked up by the likes of Diplo, Blaqstarr etc gave the record some meat, or at least some cool sounds, but in the end this was hers to pull off and she just didn’t or couldn’t.