
Named after a pancake-like delicacy, everything about the band Pikelet seethes with cuteness. From aw-shucks song titles like “They Call it Love?…Wow” to lead singer Evelyn Morris’ sweet timbre, this is a project as twee as a soft sweater and geeky glasses.
Morris hails from Melbourne, Australia, home to pop charmers The Lucksmiths and presumably many other goodwill-laden indie groups who haven’t exactly made it huge here in the States. Before, Morris was a vocalist and drummer in other projects, but you can think of Pikelet as a solo venture, with her self-titled debut honing in on her bright vocals and a gaggle of auxiliary instruments including organ, acoustic guitar, and accordion. Percussion is usually minimal but effective, leaving the stage wide open for Pikelet’s melody-focused, layered sound. The first song “Bug-In-Mouth” sounds as if it might feature four or more accordion overdubs (four more than the average song), and includes quirky lyrics like “Instead of counting sheep/ I’m going to count how many bugs I eat in my sleep.”
Whether it’s the inherent sweetness or something else entirely, it’s difficult to listen to Pikelet without reminiscing about K Records darling Mirah, although this record doesn’t feature any of the sharp edges or dissonance that mark albums like Advisory Committee, and instead Morris plays it softer, safer. All of this seems to suit her just fine, as evidenced by subject matter like a mini-person in the tongue-in-cheek titled “Size Matters,” and other songs that ostensibly explore the lives of “Miss Hen” and “Princess Mertilda.”
Pikelet isn’t an album that seems to be missing anything, but feels lacking nonetheless. The attentive production and careful instrumentation are probably as good as they’ll ever be, but that doesn’t prevent the album from dropping into the backdrop, even with headphones on and the best of intentions. Echo-laden “It’s Not Childish” seems to tell a bedtime story itself in danger of falling asleep, and even the ominously-titled “What’s Sown Will Be Reaped” is soft, cooing, and forgettable.
While there’s something to be said for comfort and a keen sense of humor, Pikelet suffers from too much of a good thing. The cracks and fissures that make Mirah’s albums weighty despite all-too-tender subtexts are absent from Pikelet, leaving us with whimsy, sugary vox, and not enough of anything else. It’s true that not all songs need be about heartbreak, but one or two would be welcome on the perennially positive Pikelet.

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