If he was raised in the wild by wolves that listened to Boards Of Canada and taught him music composition, that would be a better story. As it is, Simon Koudriavtsev's real-life drama is pretty good, too. It has all the elements of a Charles Dickens' novel: the financial hardship of a Russian family devoted to the theatre, a mother's brave move to a foreign country, and finally, the release of Koudriavtsev's first electronic album, Systems And Drafts, to overwhelming critical acclaim. You can't make this stuff up.

Born in St. Petersburg, Koudriavtsev was surrounded by artistic types, and at the age of 9, he joined a local dancing and singing group. It was here that Koudriavtsev - take his first name and his last and mash them together, and you get Skoud - developed his performance and studio chops. Eventually, he grew bored with singing and left the group. It was about that time that he and his mother moved to Sweden to try to improve their lot in life. He bought a drum kit and learned to play in the family's living room, but was later forced to sell it because his parents thought it was too loud. So, being the intrepid musician that he is, Koudriavtsev discovered computer-generated sound and programming, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now, you're caught up on Koudriavtsev's fascinating past, but what about his present? Before last fall, he was a virtual unknown in the field of electronica. But word's gotten out about his skills. A number of publications, here and abroad, have raised a glass and saluted Systems And Drafts, and with good reason.

Architecturally, Skoud's pieces are built around the metallic skeletal framework of To Rococo Rot, with all the requisite squiggles and beeps - see "Maida Vale," with its clipped, buzzing beats, and the deserted, windswept planet known as "Saker." His works are short, usually running no longer than two or three minutes long. Or maybe tight is a better word. Whatever the case, he takes what initially seem like cramped spaces and opens them with the jaws of life, exposing wider, more expansive worlds of sound. "System 19" is one of Skoud's more sophisticated tracks, with its soft flood of melting, chiming keyboards covering dry beats. "System 20 Live Edit" follows with a lovely loop of acoustic guitar, ebb-and-flow tape manipulation and a dizzying array of skitter and static. Then, to change things up, "Fu" goes hyper with vintage video game sounds. It's like all the games in an arcade have come to life and have all this nervous energy that they have to expend.

Amazingly, considering this is his first foray into electronica and that before all this, he was simply known as a drummer for a nondescript Swedish band called Molia Falls, Koudriavtsev exhibits a sublime feel for melody, while still maintaining an experimental edge that keeps you from getting comfortable. Dreamy, yet sleek and modern, like a transit station of the future, the soundscapes of "Lystandridge" and "515 Jackie Adaptor" are beautiful and serene, and yet Koudriavtsev isn't afraid to interrupt your meditation with an all-out blizzard of beats. And after the wild freakout of "THC" and the warped Boards Of Canada-style textures of "Beat 1-1" have subsided, Koudriavtsev ends with "Requiem For The Art College." Skoud's crowning achievement, "Requiem For The Art College" is an unexpectedly dark, rich piano epic that breaks your heart wordlessly.

When you think about line and form, Skoud traces its roots to Brian Eno, but you also hear the early ambient works and devilish playfulness of Aphex Twin. The vast artillery of beats, though, is all his own. Systems And Drafts can be haunting and sparse, and then frantic and ADD. I guess that's to be expected considering the life Koudriavtsev has led.