Polydistortion.

In a recent song by the Bloodhound Gang, a singer reasons that if he were gay, he'd have to love Depeche Mode. Apparently he's not the only musician who feels that way. Iceland's Gus Gus and England's Gene--two up-and-coming bands with gay members--don't sound anything alike, but they're obviously connected by many hours spent in reverie listening obsessively to Black Celebration and wishing they could twirl as splendidly and wear dog collars as suggestively as the leather boys of DM.

Although there are no absolutes when it comes to sexual orientation, the queer gene and the "loving Depeche Mode" gene do seem linked, on the same DNA chain that governs bargain hunting, musical comedy appreciation, and good taste in hairdos. The venerable synth-pop pioneers--who last month released one of the best albums in their 15-year career--seem to embody an alienated worldview to which teen and postteen homos gravitate.

The results can be wildly inventive. Gus Gus (pronounced goose goose) cooks up its music by bringing together a nine-member collective of actors, visual artists, computer programmers, DJs, filmmakers, and even a couple of instrumentalists. Several members boast bios that are mighty queer-reference-intensive. A few samples: Biggi Thorarinsson discovered music at 16 and "instantly fell in love with Sylvester (and other Hi-NRG acts), which led him to Visage, Depeche Mode, and Marc Almond." Magnus Jonsson is a "former drag queen (few Icelandic actors have played homosexuals on stage more often)."

Gus Gus's debut album, Polydistortion, is a dreamy collection of ambient techno, would-be cabaret tunes, and trip-hop-synth-pop with more personality than most of the electronica new wave. And the variety of tempos, styles, and voices (Gus Gus has three singers: two boys and a girl) makes Polydistortion feel more like a diverse DJ set than a conventional album.

The comically surreal video for the band's first single, "Polyesterday," has repeatedly graced MTV's late-night electronica show, Amp, with casually queer imagery--two obviously coupled ambulance nurses, of all things.

Back in England, Depeche Mode's descendants are far more conventional. Gene features a lineup that generates the guitar drama of the Smiths crossed with Depeche Mode vocals. Singer Martin Rossiter manages to evoke both DM's Dave Gahan and Martin Gore while warbling gay love songs that are one step more overt than Morrissey's. "We could be kings/This planet is ours/We've love on our side/The keys to my car," he proclaims with a poetic mixture of specificity and overstatement that permeates the entire CD.

The obviousness of Gene's influences does grate: Rossiter is such an exacting student that the band cannot overcome its secondhand stature. If you're not old enough to have experienced the early days of Gene's modern-rock models, you may find much to enjoy on Drawn to the Deep End. Otherwise, you'll probably consider Gene a highly homoerotic--but homogeneous--clone.