You know, every time I hear the word Kindercore, I think of two things: kiddie porn and elementary-age thrashmongers. Both of these are quite a bit removed from the retro twee-pop purveyed by most of the bands on the label, but I, for one, would like just once to see a Kindercore band truly live up to its name. At the very least, it'd be something for the marks, and at the most, well... can you imagine Of Montreal making an appearance on "Springer?" I can.

Sadly, this opportunity afforded by fine label choice is not taken up by Ashley Park, the pseudonym for former Saturnhead frontman and Cinnamon (no, not the Swedish one) member Terry Miles. Instead, he and a choice selection of musical guests aim for making Pop with a capital "P" and no "ular" at the end. That's right-- the Beach Boys might have tossed off this record in one of their more cheerfully smart-assed moments. I'm not saying that Miles is anywhere near the songwriter Brian Wilson once was-- you couldn't even say that jokingly. But Town and Country's rating has as much to do with the year 1966 as it does with its level of quality.

It's really quite impressive that the clarity of this record's production is one of the few indications that it doesn't come from the era of surfboards, Merseybeat, and Mod-A-Go-Go pants. But there are traces of something else here. On "Town and Country II," Terry Miles reveals what could be some mid-70's Pink Floyd in his decidedly vintage influence basket, starting off as a somewhat disarming pop song and sliding into a pool of delay, drones, and distorted blues guitar.

Most of the other track recall the aforementioned pillars of retro-pop, with a little Simon and Garfunkel thrown in to taste. The guitars are tubed out, tightly riding the beat, the label on the organ reads Lowrey or Hammond, and the bass lays down low-end fills, bringing to mind Roger Waters' work with the Syd Barrett-era Floyd. Miles even credits himself with playing "Old Ludwig Drums," a four-piece kit at most, employing it sparingly. Various touches of vibes, horns, and pianos both electric and acoustic grace the spaces between the bare essentials, yet fail to stand out any more than they would on mid-60's AM radio.

Signs point to Town and Country being a concept album, from its multi-parted title tracks ("I" opens the album, and "II" and "III" are coupled together roughly midway through) to its fairly continuous flow. Lyrics deal mainly with females of Miles' acquaintance, either real or imagined, and the obvious back-and-forth transitions of modern life between the country and the city. "NY" tells of an aspiring writer desperately attempting to escape to New York City, while "In the Country" provides imagery of the overall'd simple folk of Miles' hometown staring him down upon a return from the Big City.

None of this is terribly interesting or original stuff, but Terry Miles gives the impatient listener plenty of ear candy, melodies that stick like cockleburs on corduroy, and shining moments such as the wry satire of "Lucy and the Bourgeoisie"-- nothing to take all too seriously, but more than enough for an album of less than 32 minutes.

Town and Country feels much longer than its actual length, but in a surprisingly good way. For an album of decidedly limited scope and simple storytelling, Town and Country fulfills its vision with admirable accuracy. If you're at all into the sounds of yesteryear, with minimal modern intervention, this record should bear many enjoyable listens. If you're a futurist bent on a shiny digital sound with maximum innovation, the liner notes are soon to end up on your dartboard. But if you lay at neither end of the spectrum, then, for my purpose, you don't exist and should consult your good friends Eenie, Meenie, Minie, and Moe as to whether Town and Country belongs in your collection.

-Craig Griffith