"Uh-oh/ Here we go/ Turn up the radio/ Come on everybody/ To the Nth degree!"
Are you a cooler-than-thou hipster? Do you long for pop music you can love without losing your ‘cred’? Does trying to explain your adoration of Annie and Robyn leave your American Apparel post-feminist panties in a twist (“Yes, Annie is blonde and Nordic but not really pop
. Sure, Robyn was a packaged princess back in the 90s, but now she’s got status. On her own indy label and everything!”)
Your search is over, my troubled friend. Introducing the pop moment even you can publicly applaud. See how there are all those real instruments! Look, they’re a band! With ex-Beastie Boys credentials! Gil Norton produced, and you can’t get any more authentic and worthy than those Pixies dudes, right?
Exactly. If you have any sense at all (and hair that doesn’t routinely take twenty minutes of artful coiffing every morning), that pedigree will have left you entirely unmoved. But fear not, for there is actual brilliance to back that MTV2-friendly allure! Really? Truly? Honestly?
Why yes! Think synthetic coos of lovingly over-produced and insanely infectious joy. Think jubilant chanting. Think pouting attitude. Think plastic, shiny, melodic, focus-group-tested, demographically divine, pre-teen-friendly, co-ordinated-dance-routine-able, ‘if we’re going to debate the substance of pop then this is more pop than Britney’, start bouncing around with the elation of it all sheer brilliance.
Of course, the poor band didn’t actually get the memo that this was a very good thing indeed
and so the rest of the album is packed with that whole noisy-disco-yell-electro-can-I-be-Peaches-or-at-the-very-least-Karen-O? rigmarole, but never mind. We know all too well that pure pop perfection is but a morsel of sugar-rush bliss on our adhd singles-only tongue. Taste. Treasure.
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