The synthesis of two jazz students and a female with a remedying coo doesn’t exactly sound enticing, but fears of spaghetti progressions and aneurism-inducing melodies soon evaporate with this debut album from Toronto trio DIANA, who might well have a stonewall hit on their mitts. Sure, there are virtuosic tendencies and occasional flirtations with the complex, but over these 8 tracks it’s all about the right balance, as the band coat their challenging dexterity with a sheen that’s both inclusive and immersive.

‘Foreign Installation’ could be Goldfrapp at half-speed, while the ‘Perpetual Surrender’ is wondrously sparse, all gliding bass and Fleetwood Mac-ish percussion. Best of all, it culminates with one of those evocative strangled sax solos, the sort that were once Clarence Clemons’ bread and butter for Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band. Addictive soft pop.


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