The Pheromoans

Though they've been plugging away for some time, it was on their last album that The Pheromoans finally won me over. They jumped things up a notch and emerged from the murk a bit, not to crystalline pop or anything so brash, but to a clearer picture of their mulled wine version of post-punk, crackling at the edges of British DIY and paying just enough homage to their forbears as to snap into focus for an album's worth of shambolic fun. They continue this tradition on Hearts of Gold, still drifting down a few alleys for aimless stumbles but just as often snapping the right latches on their scuffed briefcase full of jangled n' jostled pop gems that they remind you they have a pretty good handle on the kind of bristled pop they're going for. They seem to have found an amiable balance between the Formica snap of synth and gnarled jangle of guitar here, letting space breathe through the tracks and stretching their sound out into the kind of half cocked slouch that gives the best DIY its bite. They're still not kicking at a hundred percent, but hell its pretty close, and once the album rolls into the midsection it gets damn fun in a tumble to the finish.

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