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'Tropical grit-pop' is how Ghost Beach (who got their sobriquet from a Goosebumps book via one of the duo's mini-offpsring) explain their sound on their Facebook profile. 2/3 of those words are nail-on-the-head accurate – this is exotic, Carmen Miranda-level '80s tropicalia (though beaches are probably vastly more full of hypodermic syringes since Miranda's halcyon '40s), paintballed with bubblegum-indie. The 1975, Bastille and Walk The Moon are close comparisons, though none gun for the synths as much as Ghost Beach do on Blonde, their debut LP. It's the kind of frothy, fizzling plastic-pop that has crosshairs trained on teenage hearts; it's the kind of music that Beliebers and Directioners graduate to after their tween idols OD on coke with a strap-on embedded in lurid cavity.

That's not to say Blonde is in any way bad – it's infinitely peppy, dimple-gun smiles are in abundance and it's kinda vapid, but if you can look past that, then you'll probably quite enjoy it. The appeal possibly won't last past the end of summer, but it'll serve its purpose for a few months, by which time another electropop outfit will be primed for catapultation anyway. So yeah, it's sort of disposable – only a one or two tracks might survive Winter's Annual Synthpop Cull – but, back to the original point, that's not to say it's bad. Glass slipper pop, this is.

'Tear Us Apart' is one such track that might have an elongated lifespan. Slathered in brazen '80s guitar jangle and new wave beach synths, á la Duran Duran, the NYC twosome unleash a rocket-powered dancefloor banger. The vocals in the verse contain more pressure than a shook-up can of Pepsi, and in the chorus they explode into smooth smithereens, soaring into a golden oblivion. It's hugely singalongable; this is a potential festival favourite. You can glean MGMT and Passion Pit's zany synth rotomontade from the E-number-infused mixture, and unless you're basically the Grinch, this should instil some light into your day.

Other tracks are okay, but in general fail to reach the same level of honesty and intensity. 'Every Time We Touch' (no Cascada here) is a weaker interpretation of 'Tear Us Apart', 'Faded' has got some 8-bit synths and bro-step bass wobbles which inject rhythmic intrigue, 'Too Young''s jittery axes and 'ooh-ooh-ooh' choruses lack gumption. Reggae-inspired 'Without You' (presumably a huge, slow nod to influences The Police), is built for yacht shindigs. 'Miracle' is glorious fun though, with surfy pop six-stringers and heady pop hooks – think 3OH!3 at their least cloying, or Wavves riddled with MDMA. It's a mixed bad for sure, and while Blonde isn't an exceptional LP, it's unpretentious, animated, guarana-d, and rammed with jovial melodies.

Their notorious Times Square billboard stunt probably helped drum up curiosity and popularity for Ghost Beach (if you've not heard about it, they basically did a thing with some stuff and it was all very interesting), but it seems like that's the only trick up their sleeve for now. On their first album, they manage to manoeuvre themselves into a position where they can shoot out a spangly rainbow of high-octane pop without so much as a pee break. It's a very particular kind of retro electro-pop, and if you're not partial to a bit of puddle-deep sugar, then you're unlikely to form a bond here. If you welcome the need for a slab of simple hedonistic pleasure, then you might find yourself some treasures here. Switch off and put yourself on party-autopilot.