You know, people talk about Canada as if it's just one big, homogenous blob of moose, ridiculously polite people who say "aboot," and french fries dripping with vinegar. But it's completely unjust to judge a land of such diversity with such general stereotypes. I mean, as a New Yorker, I would be really insulted to hear some Canadian say, "Oh, you're from America, eh? Well, howdy, y'all! You married your sister, eh?"

No, we've shortchanged our brothers and sisters up North for too long. It's about time we develop new stereotypes. Better stereotypes. More specific stereotypes. And what better place to look than Canadian music? I can see it now: "Oh, you're from Vancouver, huh? Boy, I hear the melodies there are almost as catchy as the social diseases!" I can't vouch for the accuracy of the second half of that statement, but I'll bet someone who lives there can. (Anybody?) Ladies, being hit on by some creep from the lovely city of Toronto? Simply offer: "No thanks, fella, there's only one Loverboy from Toronto, and people stopped giving a shit about them ten years ago!"

Designing a witty putdown for Winnipeg, however, is where it gets tricky. The unassuming Canadian city has been home to such diverse musical talents as Neil Young, the Crash Test Dummies, and the Guess Who. But Neil Young is old, nobody gives a damn about the Guess Who anymore, and the Crash Test Dummies are dead, I think. But if the debut album from Winnipeg locals Novillero is an indication, some kind of suggestive remark involving horns might be in store. The Brindleford Follies shows the six-piece band forging a thick pop sound that is, at times, the perfect soundtrack to an afternoon of head-bobbing, but suffers from a few weak links, aimless tracks, and unforgivable lyrical mishaps.

Pop is the name of the game here, folks, and Novillero, at their best, manage to pull off a really sweet combination of Beulah's horn-heavy, vaguely psychedelic pop, and the more loose-- sometimes loungy-- sounds of Nassau-era Sea and Cake. But unlike these two groups, Novillero has yet to attain their own distinct voice.

The Brindleford Follies flirts with elements of the aforementioned bands, as well as ska and fingerprints left by retro psychedelic rockers like the Zombies. The results are a mixed bag. "Ambrose, We Need Advice" suffers from having been built entirely upon one of the oldest, most played-out chord progressions known to man. And the fact that said progression consists of two chords doesn't exactly ameliorate the situation. "On a Canvas, Stained" couples some nice harmonies and a riveting chorus with a sadly pop-punk-ska verse, complete with gratuitously syncopated guitar riffage and, yes, horns.

But the most egregious, er, folly on the record comes with "The Day the Trumpet Player Fell in Love, and Learned to Hate Men." Lyrics such as, "Somewhere in a chair is a woman with ruby hair/ She has the opinion everything in her life is unfair," whether or not they're intended ironically, sound purely ridiculous. The song eventually develops into a not-half-bad pop tune, but what's the point if you can't get past the opening?

Despite The Brindleford Follies' crappy lows, there are plenty of highs to tip the scale. "Stumble On," "World's Eye View," and "Cat Scan" are all well-executed, breezy tunes that hint at a really great future for Novillero. But you know what they say about those damned Winnipegians: they never can get it right the first time.

-Matt LeMay