La Roux - La Revieoux

Synths were in, as were female artists flogging 80s electropop and L was the monogram de jour. But, thing is, only the workmanlike, stringent promotion of Lady GaGa's global brand had gleaned commercial success where Ladyhawke and Little Boots were fighting tooth and nail just to dent the top 75. And then who should swan into the top 3? A po-faced androgyne, taking style tips from Adam Ant with a vocal like a pre-pubertal choir boy testing his highest register mid-castration, surely a love it or hate it, acquired taste? The video and promotion weren't any great shakes either, team this the aforementioned marmite factor and who could have guessed that La Roux would land a number 2 debut and a follow-up single rocketing straight to the top? If her self-titled debut follows suit, sullen front woman ( La Roux are a duo, with an enigmatic co-writer/producer male cohort, Ben Langmaid, looming in the shadows a la The Eurythmics) might muster up the mirth to crack a celebratory smile. She may have good reason for icy facade, La Roux is all about a break-up you see. No wonder then, that onstage, Elly looks like a grumpy teenager reluctantly pushed into a school talent show by an overbearing music teacher, she's performing songs that are based on the annals of her young, once-broken heart. Blood on the Tracks it ain't but there's more emotional heft here than such synth-led, 80s froth ought to boast.

Listeners should already be familiar with the sleeper hit In for the Kill, the vocal is either winning or a deal breaker and it does have a certain intensity that only lets up for the falsetto-laden middle eight but the innately satisfying hook and fresh take on revelling in the retro makes it a bit of a winner. Second single Bulletproof is immediately more likeable, she swaps her ear-piercing vocal razor blades for a more accessible, if a little whiny, traditional pop vocal as the catchy funk of the Cassio keyboard and drum machine combine, along with a brilliantly simple and consciousness-seeping chorus and take hold. I'm Not Your Toy feels as though it's attempting to reach the lofty heights of Bulletproof's effortless bounce, albeit in a more minimalist fashion, however, it lacks a little momentum with the catchiest crescendo of the song reached before the plodding chorus even kicks in, a grower moreso than anything. Something decidedly more instant is Tigerlily, the first sign of La Roux's potential for real genius outside the generally crowd-pleasing singles. It's a an ode to lovelorn obsession by way of a deranged stalking metaphor via a demented ZX Spectrum and affected vocal with a spoken-word bridge in an ominous baritone that'd give Vincent Price the heebee-geebees. Light relief comes in the form of frothy Fascination and pulsating Reflections with their amiable buoyancy and satisfying crunch of synths,

But for all the bravado on show there, the finest moments of La Roux's running time come when things slow down. A blatant play for heart-strings-tuggage comes in the form of the indisputably pretty Cover My Eyes which reveals a softer more vulnerable side while feeling completely true to the tone of the album as a whole, even with the presence of a choir, yes, a choir. The unvarnished, heart-breaking honesty of "Every time I see you walking with her I have to cover my eyes" is almost childlike and the feeling of pain it subtly conveys is almost palpable. As if By Magic isn't of quite the same tear-jerking proportions but maintains a gentle poignancy, there's a certain ambiguity to the lyrics that leave it open to interpretation as though it's daring you not to relate to it in some way or another. Elsewhere Love Armour, combines the softest of bruised vocals with the unwavering buzz and whir of crisp beats and bubbling synths. Funny how the use of nothing more than the simple plink of keyboards and some synthesised beats can convey emotions far from synthetic. It's with both of these songs that La Roux proves that 'soulful' warblers don't have the monopoly on emotion in pop. Leona Lewis can butcher Snow Patrol's back catalogue, ballgown and dodgy weave in tow as she simpers about a forest for the rest of her days, even with all the C6 notes in the world she could never hope to muster up the same succinct encapsulation of heartbreak in such an effortlessly deft fashion.

As mentioned, La Roux was mostly written on Jackson's arrival in Splitsville and as such, the album's musical tone cleverly progresses from the initial intensity of cross words and that painful parting of ways before revealing a front that everything's okay only for the bravado to be stripped away on Cover My Eyes as it beckons a tear-stained reprieve. The dawn breaks and tears are wiped away for Fascination and the mood perks but by the closing track there's a reassurance that this wasn't just a puppy love but a the real deal that's left its mark. Isn't that clever? A seemingly angular, robotic slice of pop that, in actuality, is all stuffed full of snotty Kleenex and hastily torn love letters and candid Polaroids with a genuine progression from track to track, resulting in a cohesive album, the likes of which don't come along too often these days. In the era of iTunes making playlists and re-jigging tracklistings is all too easy, but even if, for some reason, you wanted to shuffle La Roux's tracks around, you'd feel guilty, knowing that that's how it should be heard. It's not as fun as Little Boots or as effortless as Ladyhawke but it's shrewder, the real McCoy, there's certain weight and level of commitment behind the 1980s nostalgia and, surprisingly for debut, a sense of gravitas. If the record-buying public take to this album as they have to her material thus far, then the pain of that oh-so prevalent break-up may have been worth it, anyway, musician's don't suffer enough for their art these days...