Indyglow pushes the pleasure buttons in my brain so much it's kinda annoying. All the elements of standard indie pop are here, presented with Kabuki- like ritualism: your standard indie pop buzzy rhythm guitar, your standard indie pop Day-Glo synthesizer, your standard indie pop nerdboy vocals, and your standard indie pop girly- girl vocals. The obligatory sound equation goes like this: Poolside = Weezer * (Stereolab - all of Stereolab's silly politicizing and singing in French). In other words, there's something for every cardigan- clad, thick- rimmed glasses- wearin', hoplessly cowlicked indie kid out there. Woo-hoo.

Forgive my cynicism, but I'm fighting myself here. While I admit Indyglow is everything I could ever want in an indie pop album, it seems too good to true. In fact, after several listens, I'm convinced that Poolside is some sort of Stepford band, deploying their songs with blank cheerfulness. Everything on Indyglow-- the distortion on the guitars and synths, the impossibly high- pitched female vocals, the petulantly moody male vocals-- is buffed to a brightly- colored plastic shine, and the songs run the gamut from bouncy ("It's Been Tried") to rockin' ("El Parade") to mellow ("Host of Tears") to Blondie ("Union City Blue"). There's not a base that Poolside doesn't cover, and for some reason, that creeps me out.

The closer I listen, the more I realize that Poolside wants my love. No, make that, "demands my love." No, wait. Instead, make that "demands my immortal soul." And the scary thing is, I'm halfway inclined to give it to them, to let them smother and obliterate me with their soulless sound and turn me into some sort of gibbering zombie. So sweet... so very sweet... no! Must... resist! Can't... give in... if only... I could reach... my copy of... OK Computer...

Ha! Back, foul demons! By the power of Thom Yorke's twitchy eyelid, I smite thee! Away with you to the depths of capital-h Hell from whence you came! You may return to fight another day, but I will be ready and waiting for you, this time equipped with Fugazi's Repeater!

Whew! That was a close one. Take a tip from me, kids: Indyglow ranks right up there with heroin and nuclear waste on the list of things you shouldn't fuck with unless you know exactly what you're doing. Also, like heroin and nuclear waste, it's highly addictive and radioactive. So, don't come crying to me when you're broke, jonesing, and growing a third arm. You've been warned.

-Nick Mirov