Let Me Introduce My Friends

Comparisons, of course, centre worryingly on The Polyphonic Spree, a band of similar scale and cattle-herd dimensions. Thankfully, the creative force driving the project - Emanuel Lundgren – displays little of Tim de Laughter’s creepy Koresh-esque ambitions and, rather than forcing the listener to worry that his band have a stockpile of weapons at home, the Swedes’ first album bounces with a genuine, difficult to hate (and boy how I’ve tried) pop optimism and humane buzz.
I should warn you, however, that this record is so tooth-rottingly sweet, schoolkids will need to bribe a compliant fishwife to smuggle them a copy at lunchtime. With subject matter extending to treehouses, outbreaks of chicken pox, and the joys of sleeping in, you half expect to come across a song about trapping wasps in old milk bottles, or explaining the best way to win a conker contest. Likewise, when it comes to the music, Nick Cave fans should perhaps be advised to steer well clear. Strings soar, choirs rise, kazoos, banjos and accordions all shoulder their way to the front of the class. The juvenile faux-naïf spirit is overwhelming. But while it may not be big, Let Me Introduce My Friends is undoubtedly clever. And the pop heart of tracks like ‘Rec & Play’ and ‘Ola Kala’ encourages you to keep with the programme.
The sheer number of wage-slips that Lundgren has to authorise each month will, no doubt, see the I’m From Barcelona team-sheet shrink considerably over the next few months, and, as with all bands of this ilk, the charm will no doubt wear diaphanously thin come LP number two, but for a giddy, if instantly forgettable, pop rush, Let Me Introduce My Friends provides decent, early autumn company.
You may not want to stay in touch with I’m From Barcelona, but you’ll be glad to have met.