Anya Marina — Felony Flats (2012)

On the surface, it's easy not to take Anya Marina seriously—the wispy voice, the bottle-blond hair, the coy album cover. And musically, what she's going for isn't terribly complicated. She makes broadly palatable music, borrowing a lot from various genres. A lot depends on the execution. Her approach is a template, and with enough depth and complexity, it can really work. On this—as on her previous albums—there are moments where she pulls it off. "Believe Me I Believe" is a solid example. Her voice drifts in and out of darkly textured electronic polyrhythms, and the contrast is superb. "Heart Stops" achieves the same effect, this time setting her against a lilting bassline and a wall of guitar. Despite very little actual structure, these spaces do give the listener plenty to explore. If she could carry it off for an additional half-hour or so, it would be one hell of an album. Unfortunately, she can't, and moments like this leave one wishing.

In the end, "borrow" is the right word for what Marina is doing. She doesn't immerse herself in any of these genres; she always seems like a visitor. She dips her toes in the acrid waters of punk, grunge, etc., but always there is the sheen of a top-40 star. This formula is exactly what's landed her on buzz-making commercial spots and soundtracks, of course. Such venues exist all around the edge of the mainstream, her home turf. Marina never gets lost in her wanderings; there's always a hook around the next corner. It's easy to listen to, for sure, but after a while it takes some effort just to stay engaged.

That said, and no backhanded compliment intended, maybe it's better not to try and stay engaged. For what it is, Felony Flats is close to pitch-perfect. Marina is alluring, more than fascinating. Her music exists comfortably in the background while you're doing something more interesting, calling your attention just often enough to add to the experience. But never enough to really captivate you.