Great pop music shimmers like a heatwave haze, and is about as easy to come across as a desert oasis. Pop music that's merely good is much more commonplace. It's not hard to write a catchy song anymore. People's expectations are so highly-tuned that just catering to them can generate successful results. Who these days takes the time to write premeditated hooks and planned-out melodies? Well, the Twigs are trying as hard as anyone and, as of Epicure, still succeeding.

The core of the English/Norwegian duo is comprised of twin sisters Linda and Laura Good. (I say "core," because they add and subtract members when needed, and have performed as a duo, trio, and quartet when it's suited their whim.) They were the fortunate ones struck young in life with the vision and commitment to try their hand at the rock 'n' roll roulette wheel. Their long-overdue second full-length, Epicure, is eleven songs of guitar pop-- some fast, some slower-- but all in the vein of their more recent influences: Lush, Sleeper, the Primitives, and Sugar, to name just the obvious.

Epicure fits snugly in the cozy dovetail formed by the intersection of Britpop and dream-pop. Plain and noisy guitars and traditional song structures risk drowning in the anonymous sea of sound-alike alt-rock (early-to-mid 90's style), but the lifeguard here is the melodic acumen that the Goods display. With an architect's precision, the Twigs construct simple and elegant songs. Songs that build with the crescendoing force of a summer hailstorm. Druggy lullabies that soothe while simultaneously scaring. Aggressive chug-alongs with distorted vocals.

Most of the time, the vocals recall Bettie Serveert's Carol van Dijk in a less sultry mood. Those same Scandinavian-accented, wide, wraparound phonemes are everywhere. The Twigs even occasionally venture into the Sundays' modus operandi, with vocals that aren't sung so much as exhaled in frosty vapors. Neither of the sisters are vocal powerhouses, but both can muster enough quirk to distinguish their pipes from the hordes of forgettable, wispy waifs that tried to pull this shit off back in the day.

If you were fearing a sophomore slump after the keen popcraft of Bring Me the Head of Eternity, rest assured that the Twigs are still in full bloom. Spring is here, and well-made, carbonated guitar-pop is being produced for your Easter basket.

-John Dark