By Jennifer Nine
(Recommended album)
That's Magnapop, of course, smiling from the get-go. The sly title comes courtesy of Ruth Morris, the girl who makes girls dream of *universes* of guitars. And boys stand around mumbling "Aww, Ruuuthie...shakin' her sweaty hai-yur" with a look of unutterable longing (as two boys in Atlanta once did in front of me). So if Ruth, caught astride a rush of guitar-string friction that makes old-school masseuses look workshy, says rubbing doesn't help...
It's cos rubbing's only part of it, of course. If there's a perfect Magnapop set waiting to tumble out like shiny, wriggling things from a satchel, this LP contains most of it, in lucky bag order. There's more rubbing, in the punk pop of "Cherry Bomb" with its surf-hook strapped on tight or the sussed, spark-flicking "An Apology". There's more secrets, from the crawling, empty-glass insinuatin of hidden track "Suck It Up", to the surreal dream logic and sweet southern ring of "My Best Friend". And there are more voices: Ruth's now singing along with Linda, stacking up harmonies that mesh like your own two hands.
That's Linda Hopper, of course, the girl who sings like she's riding a fairground horse as the band spin past, rocking her blonde head as she skates through the sparkle and grit. Finally caught up close and unadorned on record, she has a voice you could soak in like a hot mineral bath: softly heartbroken on "Dead Letter", snakily deliberate on "Juicy Fruit", guilelessly spring-clear on the sad, joyous "Open The Door".
Lazy and light-fingered, raw and rattling. Magnapop, of course: they're not famous or anything, they're just *good*.
The warm, generous sound of like-nobody-else.