Big Trouble in Little Boots - Hands Review (there is, of course, no trouble but witty post titles are not my forte)

I don't know what a Dubree Styophone is or what I'd do were I handed something called a Tenori-on but Little Boots seems to have an idea as these are some of the unorthodox instruments she makes us of to create her thoroughly electronic sound. Indeed, the album isn't the most organic sounding and each song certainly feels as though it's been cut from the same 1980s electro-glam cloth but my, isn't it a cohesive, slick and exciting record? All lean and shrewd in taking special care not to outstay its welcome but tantalising for the duration of it's well-judged stay. This whole 'litany of solo female singers unleashing this synth-heavy 80s revival lark onto the pop charts' angle might be wearing a tad thin but do bare in mind that before this craze the Mark Ronson trumet brigade that was the sound de jour. By comparison, shiny, robotic pop with a sweet tone is a welcome respite. Her first proper single release came recently in the form of New In Town which blends a Goldfrapp vocal, a saucy kylie wink, some crunchy synths and hip, young sass to make a pleasing opening track and debut single for uber-hyped, critical darling but ironically, it doesn't really do her justice. The big chorus is a little too poppy by way of bratty for its own good but the sashay of the verses and the luxuriant middle eight hint at greatness. Can the rest of the album build on this promising blueprint?

It would seem so. The robotic Stuck on Repeat is sublime, haunting and effective as it builds, ascends, drops out and reaches a thrilling crescendo. Earthquake's whirring synths and electronic beats serve as a canvas for a light but affected vocal as the subject matter of the age old domestic is compared to natural disasters. It's a would-be brooding lament hid beneath a neat little analogy but the harmonies and big chorus don't let on, sonically frothy but lyrically a little bruised. Click has a touch of The Knife about it, a smoky, creeping melody with an ominous instrumental while Meddle boasts an electronic stomp and an undulating beat that sucks you in. Phil Oakley pops round on Symmetry and delivers a booming chorus and a spoken word bridge with all the bombast one would expect from the man who so famously asked 'Don't you want me baby?'. And cleverly enough on Ghost, though entirely electronic, Little Boots manages to conjure up a welcome touch of theatrics with a marching band beat stuttering away like something from a bygone arcade cabinet.

It's not all effortless cool and weighty electronica though. Remedy, though indisputably catchy, flirts far too closely with faceless, Cascada-style, dancefloor filler banality. A stammering baseline and a restrained tone are all that holds it from requiring a music video featuring Little Boots straddling a greased-up backing dancer in a suitably ethnically diverse but tastefully PG nightclub. Having said that, if any song on here is going to give this girl a hit (and maybe even a Eurovision entry), Remedy's her best shot. Meanwhile, the MOR bop of Tune into My Heart shouldn't win her any fans, it also features a somewhat ropey metaphor, but that's sort of a running theme here. A not entirely convincing maths motif lies at the core Mathematics which, whether intentional or not, has a delightfully campy edge to it balanced by a deadpan delivery and rather sparse production building into a pleasingly beefy chorus. And the staccato No Brakes likens a doomed relationship to an automobile, 'No heart brakes' gettit? It hints at greatness but has engine trouble along the way (oh dear...)

Steely and electronic, any warmth emanating from Hands is courtesy of Hesketh's restrained yet emotive - but hardly spectacular - vocal, the album is never cold or industrial but it is lacking in a certain richness that perhaps comes with the use of instruments with names as seemingly ad-libbed as a stylophone. There is, however, a certain shimmering effervesence to the whole affair and the fact is, there's plenty to love here; the poppy hooks, the cucumber cool demeanour, the lyrical flourishes and sheer listenability of the whole album as a body of work from start to finish. Is it deserving of the critical praise heaped upon her, who's to say? Jesus probably won't appear before you when you listen to it, so nix that thought in case BBC's accolades has you thinking such a divine occurrence was possible in the presence of Little Boot's dulcet tones. But if he did happen to appear, on other business we'll say, I'd like to think he'd appreciate the fresh sounding take on the 80s and the consistently strong and relentlessly memorable melodies - was that blasphemous? Oh well...

Hands is certainly deserving of commercial success. Where many a fashion-foward synth-loving lady has tried and largely fizzled, Little Boots may succeed with this is a finely crafted, electropop album, that wonderfully, is pretension free. It has a certain cool factor but not in a way that's at all alienating and it joyously revels in big choruses and chart-ready hooks without feeling focus-group tested. With that in mind, there's no reason that Little Boots and her Tenori-on can't beep, plink and coo all the way to the bank with this one...