Of the myriad reasons my mid-'90s high school years seem, in retrospect, pretty goddamn embarrassing, my obsessive love of Britpop ranks high. Sure, my tawdry affair with the genre was spawned from an admiration of great bands like Blur, the Stone Roses, and the Smiths. I overdid it, though. Virtually any band garnering even mild buzz in the UK warranted immediate purchase, including such dodgy blokes as Sleeper and Embrace, whose music I often paid steep import prices to obtain.

During college, I realized my folly and soon ditched the bulk of my Anglophilic collection, and can now officially consider myself a reformed addict. I've overcome my once-rampant desires for quick spins through Gene's Drawn to the Deep End or Kula Shaker's K. But perhaps overconfident in my ability to resist the brash, huge, often theatrical sound Britpop offers, I wandered carelessly into the New Pornographers' Mass Romantic. They're a Canadian supergroup-- how Brit can they be? Uh-oh. Here comes the relapse.

The New Pornographers features the talents of Zumpano's Carl Newman, John Collins of Thee Evaporators, Dan Bejar of Destroyers, Limblifter's Kurt Dale, filmmaker Blaine Thurier, and country chanteuse Neko Case. But it matters little that they're from this side of the Atlantic-- their peppy, gleeful, headstrong guitar pop sounds a hell of a lot like yesteryear's Britpop. Look no further than the track #3 for the most telling evidence: "The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism" showcases that rinky-dink stop/start feel that Oasis offered in "Digsy's Diner," a sound to be replicated by nearly every English pop act that released an album between 1994 and 1998.

In ways, the New Pornographers equal the embarrassment of any bad '90s UK band. Their hyper-charged sound is of huge, circus proportions. Their lyrics are as ridiculous and melodramatic as they are witty. The production is absurdly clean, layered to death with sweet guitars and confectioner's multi-tracked vocals. But what really gets me is, I'm deeply immersed in an intensely passionate affair with Mass Romantic, to the point where my pleasure no longer feels guilty; it's ecstatic.

On an album this consistently enjoyable, it's difficult to pick out highlights. Especially considering that highlights aren't something the band seems at all concerned with: the album is constructed and assembled with such cohesiveness that individual moments within songs stand out and raise the bar from infectious pop fun to glory. Take, for example, the sublime, Brian Wilson-inspired bridge on the bouncy, Bejar-chirped "Jackie," which features three vocal tracks harmonizing in rounds, singing, "Are you gonna start the sunshine?"

"Mystery Hours" is heavily synthesized with zipping Moogs that emanate a thick exhaust around Carl Newman's vocals. The chorus blasts off at a frenetic pace to a place where whiplash drums and keyboards meet. The song smacks of the 1980s, though it's less an attempt at cashing in on the decade's renaissance than a channeling device to conjure a sound that's simultaneously cheesy, endearing, and contagiously synthy.

"Letter From an Occupant" serves as an exercise in Buggles-reforming. Neko Case's shrill vibrato is initially runny and abrasive, but within a minute, congeals as she pours her heart out in lines like, "I've cried five rivers on the way here/ Which one will you skate away on?" Again, the harmonies are top-shelf as Newman's joyous "whoo's" perfectly compliment Case's vocal swagger.

The quality rarely ceases. Only for a brief moment, on the march, "To Wild Homes," does the band become too comfortable with their cheeky and toothsome niche. Still, it's only a momentary dip on an album that gives scads more to the listener than it takes from its influences.

Make no mistake, the New Pornographers are a brazen bunch. Their pop is saccharine, and at times, even smarmy. It's over-the-top, but not quite beautifully absurd. Nonetheless, it makes me nostalgic for the days when "all ages" was a blessing, and adult theaters were something I'd only dreamed of-- a time when 60 Foot Dolls could be seen on days other than Thanksgiving, and Kenicke was, like, the best band name ever. The New Pornographers' rose-colored brand of pop has the power to make even those times seem respectable. Unbelievable!

-Richard M. Juzwiak