Pop music is a category defined more by attitude than by any actual musical conventions. It's a chameleon, at home with either a heavy guitar riff or some "old skool" record scratching. It can cry or fall into fits of laughter. But most often, it attempts to please everyone, shamelessly stealing from any and all musical styles to do so. It's music's lowest common denominator-- it's not worried about integrity so much as being heard and enjoyed.

On paper, it sounds like a pretty good idea-- one that has merit even amongst "serious" artists. Pop music is an easy out for any light-hearted microphone jockey that just wants to write a few catchy songs and make a couple of bucks to support their ridiculous food and shelter habits. After all, not every musician can be an artist. But unfortunately, this pragmatic approach to music draws more untalented hacks and heartless businessmen than a dead dog draws flies. For that reason, pop has been branded the bastard black sheep of the musical family.

After years of seeing boy bands (and not-so-boyish bands) drift through their careers on a sea of mediocre pop tunes, it's refreshing to see someone make this kind of music simply because it's the type of music he wants to make. That's why Peggen's American debut EP, My Fluffy Period is such a delightful listen. It's a breath of fresh air in the typically ass-scented climate of the pop music world.

Peggen himself is a goofy-looking Swedish guy who happily makes simple pop music in all its varieties, from spunky, dance-happy ditties to sad, melodramatic pseudo-dirges. My Fluffy Period, creative and laced with catchy hooks, is five songs worth of Peggen doing what he apparently does best-- making semi-intelligent music that humbly seeks to entertain the masses, while refraining from dumbing his shit down.

Unfortunately, another characteristic common in pop music is a serious lack of intensity, and this album is no exception. Nothing here stands out as particularly good or especially bad-- it's all just here. It's the musical equivalent of cotton candy; it's sweet enough and it's easy to enjoy, but by the time it makes it to your stomach, you've forgotten what it tasted like. Even the album's standout, a ballad called "Annabelle Lee," is only standout in relation to the other tracks on the album. In other words, it may be easy on the ears, but it leaves you hungry for something it just wasn't made to deliver: energy.

You know, it sucks to have to bring the guy down like this. He's probably a pretty nice guy. It shows in his nice-guy music. Sadly, being nice doesn't equate with "having talent." Besides, no one cares about nice-guy music. People these days want artsy, hip, sexy bad-guy music. This has more in common with Jon Secada.

-Steven Byrd