Jane Jane Pollock

Georgia's Jane Jane Pollock describes itself as an “experimental-pop quintet,” but a little more explication seems necessary, given the breadth of that category. For a better, just-as-quick explanation, see the cover of their self-titled, full-length debut: It features a well-worn toy player piano, topped by three equally battered foam-rubber monster masks. The heathens in question are troll-like creatures, with flat noses, small pointy ears and busted teeth, the sort of characters one would encounter in a children's fairy tale as interested in unsettling nerves as spinning a good yarn. It's those contradictory impulses—to entertain and to unsettle—that are at the core of Jane Jane Pollock.

In Jane Jane Pollock, a whistling teakettle and a snippet of movie dialogue are just as musical as actual instruments. While their songs are never not melodic, there’s a consistent undercurrent of dissonance. “Punching Jackie,” one of the debut's certain highlights, is a slithering, etherized little thing centered around three-part harmonies that counter sweet with just the right amount of sour. “Spooky Hand Saloon” and “Mystic Lurch” are instrumentals aptly described by their titles—the former is an echoing player-piano solo, while the drum machine and Theremin-like whines of the latter give off a vibe of a 1960's B-movie marathon.

As weird as things might get here, the songs beneath the sounds withstand such accouterments and arrangements. It's rare to find musicians able, or willing, to establish such an indelible and unique identity right from the start; Jane Jane Pollock has done so in a manner that’s at once interesting and inviting. —David Raposa