Bay-Area-by-way-of-Sacramento skewed-pop genius Anton Barbeau releases his fourth, long-awaited CD. Sort of an American Robyn Hitchcock, Barbeau writes tenaciously hook-filled songs whose absurdity wittily conceals the real heart that underlies them: the Einstein of whimsy and soulful eyes joyously playing the fiddle, disguised as Harpo Marx. The songs rawk, pop, roll, snap, swerve, squinge, blang, bop, hop, and purr contentedly, artfully singing of wooden legs, Elvis, bubblegum, and the titular tray. But then "Gone" and "Dazzle Girl" express a real sense of loss, while "The Banana Song" manages to parlay its absurd metaphor into an insistent and compelling, clenched-fist expression of unrewardedness. The album sounds great, too: Barbeau's quavery, grainy voice is the lewd raconteur at the end of the bar with whom you're entranced in spite of your own better judgment. And cannily surrounded as it is here with oversize factory-closeout guitars, coyly insinuating electric pianos, and synths just like Mom used to make, who could resist?

Artist
Album Title
Song Title