Saint Etienne: Good Humor

Saint Etienne
Good Humor
Sub Pop

"FROTHY" IS THE word that most effectively describes the U.K. retro-soul band Saint Etienne: light, pretty, and about as deep as a Hayley Mills vehicle, and driven by a twee worldview that could make a Dusty Springfield ballad read like a spin through The Encyclopaedia Britannica. In lesser hands, Etienne's frothy pop tunes might resemble champagne bubbles, each packed with lush, frivolous fun that's later dampened by diminishing, post-consumption returns. But the 8-year-old British trio's new Good Humor is more like a well-made cappuccino: What's on top is thick, rich, and delicious, and what's underneath will truly keep you going.

Saint Etienne have had the flavor for this feeling since 1990. They were fluff-pop before it became a fetish object for jaded indie-rockers. Each of their records featured high-gloss takes on whatever sounds were fresh at the date of recording. On albums like 1993's excellent So Tough, music maestros Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs offered takes on Detroit techno, house, and sampladelic kitsch using their mesmerizing string arrangements, buoyant horn charts, and vocalist Sarah Cracknell's wooing coo. Where their overdub-happy descendants, from Dubstar to Pizzicato Five, sound as soggy as over-milked cereal, Saint Etienne's best records are sweet and addictive. But what's most important is how well they stand up after their initial pep and petty ambience have worn off.

On Good Humor, they take their winning formula and lay it atop yet another current pop fundament, the Swedepop their early-'90s Anglo-soul helped inspire. Recorded in Malmö, Sweden, with Cardigans producer Tore Johanssen, the album rejects their sampling experiments of old to turn out a warm, textured, '60s high-pop aesthetic. "On her radio, she turned the disco down," Cracknell sings on the fetching "Lose That Girl," which, to a certain extent, becomes the secret for this post-techno band's pop success. From the dappled, languid "Woodcabin," to the driving "Erica America," to "Sylvie," in which Cracknell warns her 17-year-old sister to leave her man alone over a Philadelphia International rhythm track, Saint Etienne pull out every device they can lay hand and heart on. Love them, love them. Say that you love them. It rarely comes this easy.