Catatonia: Equally Cursed And Blessed

It's the same old story, if not the same old sound: Big in Britain for a few years, the Welsh band Catatonia now faces the daunting prospect of trying to make it in America. But, unlike many of its countrymen, Catatonia is fully conversant in the international language of pop. The 1998 single "Mulder And Scully" (included as a bonus track here, alongside the same year's "Road Rage") made a bit of an impact here, but most wrote it off as a novelty fluke thanks to its title. Whether that's fair or not is hard to determine; it's as cloying as it is catchy. The new Equally Cursed And Blessed, Catatonia's third album, presents a fuller portrait of the band, with a selection of material more nuanced than its best-known single suggested. Jangly guitars, dreamy synths, and a wall of strings all make appearances in support of memorable songs and singer Cerys Matthews' elastic voice. Cooing one moment, growling like Björk the next, Matthews knows how to push a good song toward greatness, be it the gentle (if pointed) "Dead From The Waist Down," the unexpectedly anthemic "Londinium," or the winning, soft-to-loud "She's A Millionaire." That song's left-field recorder solo suggests brains behind the band, as do the album's lyrics, even if the punk-lite "Storm The Palace" feels as disingenuous as it does familiar. Those who like their Euro-pop beat-driven and brainless, on the other hand, have a treat in store for them: the return of Aqua, the Danish group behind the inescapable late-'90s hit "Barbie Girl." Aquarius (not to be confused with its predecessor, Aquarium) features the simplest rhythms, the most nasal vocals, the goofiest lyrics, and the most inane subject matter imaginable. "Cartoon Heroes," the album's obvious single and album-opener (naturally) opens with an attention-grabbing tympani and doesn't stop there, making it, for good or ill, a worthy successor to "Barbie Girl." (Sample line: "Here comes Spider-Man / arachnophobian / Here comes Superman / from never-never land / Welcome to their toon-town party"). The scary thing: Aqua seems heavily invested in what it does. Aquarius is more than a single with an album's worth of filler, and it takes work to make music of such profound banality, oxymoron or no. Take the countryish "Freaky Friday," for instance, a dance send-up of country music ("This is hardcore 10-4"), the Latin-esque "Cuba Libre," or the horror-themed "Halloween": Aqua wants to make you happy, right now and in the simplest way possible. The additional pounding you hear will either be at your feet or in your head.