Bricolage – Bricolage

“When we go walking outside,” Graham Wann of Bricolage moans on the second track of their eponymous album, “I find it hard to decide which car to jump in front of.” Ah, the joys of suicide-inducing romance. When mixed with catchy hooks and infectious melodies, it’s a theme that rarely gets old, as Jens Lekman, Moz, and Stephin Merritt have long demonstrated. Often maudlin and usually hilarious, Bricolage is a sterling reminder of why heartbroken saps make the best pop records.

On their debut album, they keep the tunes light and the subject matter amusingly heavy. It’s hardly a new concept, but Bricolage seems to be scholars in the art of the miserable pop song. It’s no easy feat passing off a song about bleeding ears as both an ode to dejection and a kicky dance gem, but Bricolage pull it off with an endless amount of sunny harmonies, handclaps, and sing-along choruses.

This contrast works especially well on a song like “Footsteps,” an upbeat track about paranoia, and (of course) rejection. Amid upbeat chanting and tropical percussion, Wann wails, “The more you reach out to grab her, the more the dream disintegrates” just as the song swirls into a breezy guitar solo. It’s the kind of melodramatic musing that can only be tolerable with a good sense of humor and beautifully intricate instrumentation. Luckily, these guys seem ready to tackle anything their neuroses throw their way.

Bricolage’s sound is oddly familiar, and the comparisons come easily: Pelle Carlberg and Ballboy’s wordy lyrics, the Beach Boys and early Weezer’s harmonies, and Jonathan Richman’s less-than-stellar luck with the ladies. At times, this can be distracting, especially on by-the-book sadsack songs like “Plots are for Cemeteries” and “Sleepwalk to Me” where technically, everything is perfect, but some distinction would be nice.

However, such criticism never lasts long, as almost every track on the album is infused with their self-deprecating humor. My favorite track, “On the Omnibuses,” is one synthesizer short of a cheesy soft rock hit, but as Wann repeatedly croons, “Tell me I’m the only one,” that extra touch of self-awareness only makes his desperation even more enjoyable. It’s a trick used throughout the album and a testament to the fact that putting a guitar in the hand of a lovesick fool is bound to produce favorable results. Especially if said fool is from Glasgow and happens to be oozing with charm.