In his living room/studio lined with dark-hued collages, paintings and vintage keyboards, DG 307 founder Pavel Zajíček carefully places two cups of green tea on a table scattered with books and papers. Looking out the arched windows of his Prague garret, he carefully gathers his words.

"Two different creatures, two different bands, two different attitudes," Zajíček says, comparing his group DG 307 with the Plastic People of the Universe in the same dreamy sunrise clarity found in his poems.

Zajíček's tall, muscular frame is matched by a mix of strong Slavonic and Teutonic facial features. On stage, the authority and resonance of his voice evoke the spirit of postindustrial Central Europe in a way that can make non-Czech speakers forget they are listening to a foreign language.

Though he's not as well-known as other underground artists of the communist era, Zajíček followed the same basic career arc: persecuted in the '70s, jailed in 1973 and exiled in 1980.

Zajíček's post-'80s recordings echo the Berlin school of electronic rock pioneered by the likes of Peter Bauman and Cluster, and forwarded by Blixa Bargeld. This penchant for moody yet effervescent dirges, sometimes driven by a strong undercurrent beat, found its most popular emulation in Bowie and Eno's Berlin collaborations, such as Warsawa.

In 1992, Zajíček returned to the Czech Republic to continue DG 307, a project started in 1973 with Plastic People frontman Milan Hlavsa. Although Zajíček shared the stage and jail cells with the Plastic People, he did not picture DG 307 as a typical rock group. Utilizing an openness to the creative process not usually found in auteur rock and pop formats, Zajíček transcended the self-conscious postures of many of his contemporaries. As he says, "many people flew through DG 307" while he worked and reworked a stage and recording act based on his intuitive approach.

A good example is Artificially Flavored, his 1992 CD collaboration with Hlavsa, where with Zajíček's catalytic touch the Plastic People's leader delivered some of his most convincing post-'80s work. When Zajíček steps on stage with Agon Orchestra next week, the audience will likely find the ensemble in its best form as well, enchanted by Zajíček's poetry and stage presence.

With three decades of picturesque performances and recordings to his credit, it's not much of surprise to learn that all the collages and paintings on Zajíček's walls are his own work. Standing next to an empty easel, he demonstrates a few gothic riffs on his vintage organs and harmoniums while speaking of a "naked music stripped to the bones" that he is considering for a future project. One idea is to record with just his voice accompanied by his vintage foot-pumped harmonium, "because it is more human, it is a breathing instrument."

Speaking of his hometown and sources of inspiration, Zajíček says, "When I was young [I was inspired by] the dark architecture of Prague, which isn't the case nowadays." The entire atmosphere of the city has changed, he feels. "The place was so cold and dead, it wasn't moving. Now Prague is a part of the whole world, and is moving at a speed that I cannot always catch up with."