The first thing you need to know about Tralala is that there's three. That's three syllables, tra-la-la, unless it's tra-la-la. But either way there's actually seven, four girls acclaimed for their bangs plus three guys semi-acclaimed for banging on instruments. They do this to form notes, which can be used for chords. Tralala rely on just a few, sometimes three! But those must be enough because tiny sinus-infected lunch-recess vox fill out the rest, courtesy mostly of the four with bangs.
No, not Bangs: Meltzer. Of course three of these guy/girls already maybe know that, having employment experience with the same Greenwich Village record store that birthed Animal Collective. Tralala's kingdom is far simpler: Ramones-y NYC fuzz and girl-group social agony stuck in bubblegum pop. Hello Raveonettes, right? But that's another story for a different subway stop. Tralala are recently corrupted naifs wandering heartsick through a shadowy cinematic Gotham.
Except a song like "The Girls Say" is pretty seriously solid, put-on or no. It stands out through sheer force of "ba ba ba-ba ba daaa da" and yes subtleties like a nervous (please god not pregnant) pause between "de-" and "-flate" at the end of a line. Our narrator loves a certain boy because he's beautiful-- or is he beautiful because other girls say she should love him? "I trust my friends, but I can't trust myself," she laments, and any critic of the human primate's pack instinct knows that's not a problem of youth alone.
For all the handclaps and harmonies, Tralala are at least as not-that-innocent as Skye Sweetnam, with or without her collagen hookup. Too-rote opener "All Fired Up" sure sounds like it's about sex. Same with rootsier closer "Like This": "Feels so good, oh baby/ Let's do it again". Shocking, I know. "No/Yeah" even conjures up carnival cruises with "Lust for Life" drums and more girlish lust. Sample lyric: "Am I just some kid to you?" Bland mimickry also weakens "Everybody's Doin' Fine", which reminds us that Judy was a punk before she was a dick slap. All of which brings us back to Number One, bummer your girlfriend says that's gross.
