Scrapbook of Madness

A merrily derivative rip through a kind of California psych rock that looked both to the original era and the paisley underground, Polyphemus' debut album was if nothing else a testament to overdubbing and arranging. The two-person band of Brian Leary and Elvira Corral was no proto-White Stripes in terms of firing up and letting loose, with Leary handling guitar, bass, and drums while both members sang and contributed percussion. Partially as a result, Scrapbook of Madness feels more like a bedroom project than a band per se, but Leary does a good job putting all the pieces together with — as the liner notes boldly state — "no drum machines used." The tone of the album is extremely trebly throughout, which is both intentional and a bit of a flaw — there's a lot of full-bodied riff action on the part of Leary (check out the great woozy stomp of "The Sea Map," for instance) that feels artificially squashed and washed out. On the flip side, though, this lets his singing and Corral's come through in an enjoyably tripped-out sense, and the combination of the sometimes rushing and sometimes slow and contemplative music and just drifty enough singing makes for a fine listen. One could easily see Redd Kross having fun with some of the songs on here if they wished, like "Masses of Tiny Dots," "Your Kind Turn Me All Around," and "Satellite Sun." If the touches toward the peace and love era sometimes get too obvious for words, like the chirping birds and backwards guitar of "Mortons Botanical Garden," there's never any pretense they're anything other than that. But it's the variety with the album's formula — the band balances out electric and acoustic guitars in fun ways and no song is anything less than catchy — that makes Scrapbook of Madness the particular pleasure it is.