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The Prettiots’ tongue-in-cheek depiction of primitive American twee is nothing if not divisive, and you’ll either adore or revile their debut album. The Brooklyn trio prevail when they have more in common with old-school groups than the zany, nursery-rhyme like gimmicks this album exhibits on first impressions: ‘Hope You’re Happy’ shares a propensity for the same melodic call-and-response harmonies employed by the likes of The Shangri-Las, and their unashamed darkness in the lyrics of songs like ‘Suicide Hotline’ is an admirable facet in a world where there’s still too much stigma surrounding issues of mental health.

Ultimately, though, there’s something a little contrived here, and this type of witty, self-depreciating indie pop has been done to death – it only works if its charm is effortless and unintended, like that of Beat Happening, for example. Moreover, it’s just a bit too one-dimensional for repeated listens, so naturally it lacks endurance. The Prettiots might benefit from adding a bit more chaos to their formula next time.

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