(Mixmasters Records/MGM)

Not as delicious as poptarts, more delicious than parasites

South Australians The Brels have crafted a fun, odd little thing as their first LP. It manages to avoid repetition, darting off in new directions with each track like a hyperactive child. It’s breezy, frivolous indie rock, skipping along in the sunshine but occasionally stopping to be bleak and serious, as one must every now and then. The Man Who Wouldn’t Join A Conga Line throws jangly guitars at us to begin, then lays on pounding drums, diving into some guitar noise and swirling around in the mess mischievously before some non-committal vocals are laid down and it all feels a little Sonic Youth. But before you can latch onto any particular sound they’ve moved onto the slanting, brief, guitar-laden Rome, or a sweet little rock ballad in Disappointed Now. It’s neither particularly intense or laid back, instead just resting in a comfortable zone where guitars and songwriting live as a happy family. Not bad.

MICHAEL PINCOTT

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