Marc Bianchi, a.k.a. HER SPACE HOLIDAY, is yet another bedroom electronic wizard, but he's careful not to disturb the neighbors. Luring gentle, burbling sounds out of his circuitry, the San Francisco native creates rueful songs about what goes on behind closed doors -- the quiet, fumbling moments that are as intimate as Bianchi's velvety pop-and-click-scapes. On his third album, THE YOUNG MACHINES (Mush), he is preoccupied with connections between lovers and friends and family, and how they are severed by infidelity and recrimination. Singing in a faux-naive voice , Bianchi reaches out to a crush on ''Tech Romance'' (''So carry me around/Like a picture in your purse''), ruminates about absent relatives in ''Sleepy California'' (''I miss my mom''), ponders illicit sexual kicks in ''Something to Do With My Hands,'' and pines for lost loves just about everywhere else. Rapturous and bittersweet, ''Young'' is a soothing swoon.