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There is no doubting the hugely catchy nature of New York five-piece Lucius' debut LP; Wildewoman has tunes to burn. Unfortunately though, a confused sonic palate and uninspiring lyrical content make for a record of anomalous, and ultimately, anonymous pop.

Released in the US towards the back end of 2013, and out in the UK on 31st March, a lot of Wildewoman is reminiscent of the Brill Building pop of the '60s. There is however, much sonic variation on the New York five piece's debut. In fact, there's too much. With the twee country tinge of the title track, the crunching '80s New York pop of 'Nothing Ordinary' and the Mumfords-esque 'Don't Just Sit There', it seems that Lucius have thrown together as many different elements as possible in the hope that something sticks.

The production varies enormously too. The album lurches from Phil Spector-like mellifluence to raw-edged bite and back again within the space of just a few tracks. It'll certainly keep you guessing. But really, Wildewoman goes genre hopping so abruptly and incoherently that it's difficult to spot a clear personality or character in Lucius' sound.

There is some consistency in the form of the tight-knit lead vocals of Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig, and in the dependably high calibre of melodic hook on the record. There is no doubting the pop appeal of these songs, but catchiness alone can't save the album. It's lyrically prosaic, and feels slightly haphazard and lazily constructed; you can't help but feel there's been a lack of care taken. At times, it seems like they've written bits and pieces of songs and clunkily rammed them together. With 'Don't Just Sit There' in particular, it sound like the band have written a chorus and worked backwards, tagging on hurried, repeated verses that jar with the central premise of the track.

It's a shame they've haphazardly draped these great tunes with uninspiring lyrics too. "These buttons are in the wrong holes again/Let's straighten this whole damn mess we've gotten ourselves in" the band sing on 'Hey, Doreen'; is this a song about the nightmare of changing a duvet cover, or something equally inane? In truth, it's all a little charmless. 'Tempest' sounds like Haim put through an eccentricity filter, with all the interesting impurities squeezed out of it. It's just another case of the LP lacking that little spark.

The hummable, sing-in-the-shower refrains are there, but ultimately, its Wildewoman's lack of identity that limits its appeal.