Triggers
April March

It's a good job April March doesn't record under her real name of Elinor Blake because in the current political climate she might be in danger of being thrown in jail. Her crime? Consorting with the enemy, or "the French" as they used to be known. But April proudly waves the flag of Francophilia, singing in their language and recording in their country, I bet she even likes runny cheese and dodgy philosophy (doesn't she know that if it wasn't for the good ol' US of A she'd be singing these songs in German? Harumph.) "Triggers" is a mighty hop, skip and a jump forward from her previous album "Chrominance Decoder" with April sounding less like a squeaky ingenue singing kitschy songs about socks and more like a proper grown-up artiste. The more cohesive production drives the classic Yeh-Yeh sound of the 60s into the 21st century in the back of an electric-powered Citroen, waving at St. Etienne and Stereolab as it zooms by. A hearty three cheers must go to producer/arranger Bertrand Burgalat who sprinkles musical stardust all over the album, creating a Barbarella-esque wonderland of swirly strings, tinkling synths and sock-it-to-me beats that dances and flutters like a red balloon caught in the wind over the Paris rooftops. If loving this is wrong I don't want to be right, because "Triggers" is a gem that's well worth becoming an enemy of the state to buy. [Disques Tricatel]

Us
Mull Historical Society

Not a society, not really a proper band either, Mull Historical Society is basically one bloke: pop wunderkind Colin MacIntyre from the Scottish island of Mull (you don't think he came up with the stupid name by throwing a dart at a map do you?) who sings, writes, arranges and produces all the songs, plays most of the instruments, designs the sleeves and probably makes the sandwiches for recording session tea breaks too. Colin's one-man-band creativity and quirky, elaborate production style have led to Brian Wilson and Todd Rundgren comparisons being chucked about which, on the evidence of this (and his previous album "Loss") aren't all that far off the mark as this is something of a small masterpiece of individual pop genius that shows Colin to be a Jack of all trades and a master of most of them too. There's shimmering pop symphonies like "The Final Arrears" which takes a Magical Mystery Tour to The Flaming Lips hometown, there's stripped-down ballads about love and death like the heartbreaking, Lennon-esque "5 More Minutes" and there's fizzy power pop anthems like "Live Like The Automatics" loaded with more hooks than a fishing tackle shop. It's a good job Colin is so friggin' talented because calling your band Mull Historical Society is a bit like calling your kid Tarquin Dandelion Moonbeam, it just screams "I'm a weed, come and beat me up" so you'd have to be pretty darn good to make sure that when people hear Mull Historical Society they won't be thinking "what a poncey name" but "bugger me, they're great aren't they?" [Official site.]

Sunshine Hit Me
A Band of Bees

I might be going out on a limb here but this could well be the best album ever recorded in a garden shed on the Isle of Wight, which isn't exactly the first place (or second, or third, or twenty fourth) you'd expect to produce a record as kissed with the sunshine of Nassau and California as this DIY effort from duo Paul Butler and Aaron Fletcher. While it's slick enough not to sound like it was banged together with cardboard and sellotape it does maintain a fuzzy, homemade feel together with an anything-goes approach to musical genres that's like, well, two blokes in their garden shed thumbing through boxes of records by Curtis Mayfield, The Upsetters, Air, The Beach Boys, Os Mutantes and thinking "hey, why don't we try this?" Running through the album is the unmistakable whiff of funny cigarettes, even the uptempo tracks creep along like a stoned turtle and the whole thing plays like the mix tape for a particularly druggy house party, kicking off lively fashion with the spooky funk groove of "Angryman" and the Studio One-style reggae skank of "No Trophy." Then about halfway the drugs kick in and it slows down to a lazy crawl with the soporific folk of "Sweet Like A Champion" and completely crashes out on the floor with "Sky Holds The Sun" which sounds like Pink Floyd sharing a tab with Burt Bacharach. It may spend a little too much time lying flat on it's back for it's own good but this loose-limbed mish-mash of the funky, sunny and trippy is mostly very groovy indeed and just about perfect for hazy summer days – whether you're off your head on wacky baccy or not. [Official Site]