Gleaming second album from Toronto indie-popsters.
There’s alvvays time for a rainbowcoloured splash of ’90s-style irony, and this foursome do it with class, brio and brains. They offer a more humane version of The Primitives’ glittering, sulky soulsearching, itself born out of an obsession with Blondie. But Alvvays don’t make a fetish of their frontwoman, prime mover Molly Rankin, whose incendiary wit is the fulcrum around which the crystalline jangle shakes and shimmies. In Undertow is an explosion of crashing drums, fuzzed-out synths and Rankin’s droll vocal: “What’s left for you and me? I ask that question rhetorically, can’t buy into astrology…”; Dreams Tonite crosses dark, Velvet Underground cool with The Shangri-Las’ hopeful glow; and Forget About Life is simple and heartfelt (“Did you want to forget about life with me tonight?”) as Pulp. Just occasionally the jangle gets repetitive; sometimes, good things do go on too long.