The Handsome Ones, a band that calls Ballard home (three of the four members live within blocks of one another off Market Street), is an uncommonly inventive outfit. Their sound is crazy yet cohesive. Ironically, that diversity has proven to be a bit of a problem. They're finding that since they don't claim allegiance to one particular style, its difficult securing live shows.

"The hardest part about [trying to get gigs]," singer/guitarist Tom Olejniczak explains, "is that people want you to pigeonhole yourself. 'Who do you sound like? What bands do you sound like?' With us, it's so hard to say."

One spin of their new album, It's a Lie, will illustrate that to even the most casual listener. You'll hear some funky rock, a sprinkling of soul, a shot or three of country, wisps of middle-eastern gypsy flavor and even some groovy lounge-y stuff. And that's just in the first four songs. Now keep the album rolling and settle in. You're in for a scenic trip through some pleasantly weird territory.

They figure they're so varied because "we get bored easily," notes Floyd Bender, the bass player. "If you went through all our CD racks," he trails off, "I mean, I've got African music and blues and punk rock, then I've got death metal and black metal. How do you pick just one influence?"

Despite (or perhaps because of) the band's approach, it's an album that immediately welcomes you in. Graciously devoid of both uber-hipster snobbishness and virtuoso grandstanding, It's a Lie is a collection of songs that piques your curiosity and keeps you interested for the whole trippy ride.

With a strong album, but without the benefit of a genre to attach themselves to, the band is quickly learning that they're going to have to make their own breaks.

"We finally have all our ducks in a row," Olejniczak nods, adding that the first plan of attack is a CD-mailing campaign to radio stations. "It's all about getting off your ass and making things happen."

After that? Turning lemons into lemonade. Bender seizes the band's dilemma and turns it to their advantage. "We can totally cater to the places we play," he explains. "If it's a country place we're playing, we can bust out all our twangy-type stuff and easily play a whole set."

The sets they have played recently displayed that their supporters are about as varied as their material. Bender relates a story about one particular 'fan' in the house one night. "This guy comes up, he must've been 75, 80 years old. He says to me, 'you know, I hate music, but I thought you guys were really good.' I think that's the best compliment I ever got."

"And kids love us, too," Olejniczak adds, letting Bender run with it, animated: "the last show we played [an all-ages gig at a U-District coffee house], there were all these little kids going crazy! They were hurtin' themselves, man! And it made me play a lot harder, I swear."

The band (rounded out by drummer Mark Knapp and guitarist/keyboardist/banjo player Merlin Armstrong) are embracing their wide fan-base and their unique obstacles to superstardom. "It's time for us to get serious," Olejniczak says with a smirk. "Because we think we're pretty good." Amen to that, brother.