If you go to enough theatre, whether your local high school productions or the Royal Shakespearean Company, you'll eventually stumble onto that blue-moon coincidence: the two lead characters that are in love in real life. When that happens-- and if you are fortunate enough to pick up on it-- everything about the play changes. The subtleties and double entendres become more prevalent and pronounced. The performances are imbued with the kind of magnetic passion that can neither be faked nor hidden. It's wonderful and rare.

Friends of Sound is the husband and wife duo of Reed and Leslie Lochamy, who, if their relationship is anything like their music, never have a dull moment. Rock-ola is the product of the several years-long courtship of their record label. Periodic experiments with lineups and additional musicians just served to confound what was there in the Lochamy's Birmingham, Alabama home studio all along. And with their debut on Hidden Agenda, they've now taken the stage.

Honest lyrics about relationships (oxymoronic "romantic realism") are wedded to a flaky, 100-layer Harry & David baklava of sound. The closets were cleaned out to yield a whole spectrum of instruments-- banjo, horns, reeds, drums, drum machines, keyboards and a whole boxful of elementary-school, grab bag percussion: sticks, shakers, maracas, blocks, bells, tambourines-- in addition to the ubiquitous guitar and bass. Reed's voice bathes in natural-sounding, bathroom reverberation, taking turns at the melodies with Leslie's meek squeak. And such melodies! Friends of Sound blurt out song after song that each ring with the grace of Astaire & Rogers. Even when delivering the most banal of rhymes ("mad" and "sad," e.g.), the Friends of Sound never seem trite. Overlapping, trading, harmonizing vocals, the duo suggests a Galaxie 500 influence, and then meet the expectations of those willing to make that comparison.

The carefree opener, "Commitment," and the wide-eyed "4+4" recall the too-brief heyday of Sarah Records. More evolved than your run-of-the-mill twee, the two songs sound like richer, more sophisticated Heavenly. "T.V. Shows" confesses, "You're always worried/ I'm always mad/ I can't remember the drinks that I've had/ You don't think I care/ Under your breath I hear you swear." The lines are delivered unflinchingly to a creaking bounce accompaniment. The sing-song and slinky "Think It Over," and the breezy "Dallas Palace," match many of the great indie pop songs released in the last decade-- as if all of Stephen Merritt's unrequited loves suddenly found their soulmates.

Novelties of innocence appear in turns such as a Sesame Street cover ("Dressed for Tea") and the guest trumpet playing of an 11-year-old cousin. Reed and Leslie each give their debut attempts on never-before-played instruments (clarinet and banjo, respectively). But the threat of pretense is dispelled by their sincerity, and the stigma of "too-cute" avoided by innateness. You can't fault a fuzzpuff Easter chick for being overly lovable-- it really can't help it.

Listening to Rock-ola, I feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience, secretly and anonymously peeking inside my own marriage. One that's far from perfect but far from boring-- filled with love letters, peeves aired like laundry, counseling sessions, professions of fidelity, shared experiences, fights, and goofy antics. Smart and carefree, like a musical interpretation of a Woody Allen movie or riding a bike through a warm summer rain shower, the Friends of Sound play songs of realism without pessimism, sweetness without cloying, and beauty without artifice. They're not just acting; there's love here. Love for each other, love for fans of rich pop treats, and above all, love of sound.

-John Dark