Girls — Album

There's a very interesting back story on at least half of Girls' two-man membership, but focusing on that would only serve to distract from an almost-disarmingly good debut album, so you'll just have to google it yourself.

Besides, here's what you really need to know: Album is a fun, reflective-but-not-woebegone collection of bedroom pop rock, drawing on the music of the '50s and '60s. In some ways, it's a shame it comes out the day after fall begins — it really is a close-to-perfect summer record.

Christopher Owens' lyrics are personal, but easily transferable. There's a sad hedonism about him, and his occasionally shaky, nasally delivery adds to the vulnerability of the words. He also gets out some nice guitar textures throughout, adapting to various styles.

Co-conspirator Chet "JR" White greatly adds to the songs. His production is particularly effective on longer pieces like "Hellhole Ratrace;" his slow build to a Spector-esque wall of sound completely justifies the seven-minute epic, which would otherwise be Owens singing two verses ad infinitum.

White also adds a surf-rock ambience to "Big Bad Mean Mother Fucker," crafting what sounds like a lost track from Grease. "Ghostmouth," meanwhile, kicks off with a drumbeat stolen from "Be My Baby," and that's never a bad thing.

If Album's production lacks anything, it might be the presence of a good editor. Its tail end gets a bit redundant. Still, it's a great first work from the San Francisco duo and a possible hint of even better things to come.

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