Idiot Glee is the musical nom de plume of James Friley. After a first listen to Idiot Glee’s new, self-titled album, the glee doesn’t immediately jump out at you. But after repeat listens you start to find it in odd places. A melody here, poignant vocal there and then suddenly you realise that you’ve played Idiot Glee about 30 times, and each time you’ve gleaned something new from it.

In the past Friley has sounded like a lo-fi Brian Wilson, but on this album there is slightly more funk and fun to the proceedings. That isn’t to say that Idiot Glee has gone full Prince – far from it – but there is more bounce to the music, which really ramps up the playability. Opening track ‘Deep Warm Something’ starts all discordant and menacing, but as it progress everything comes into focus and the joy of the track starts to emerge. Eventually delicious harmonies start to appear, which has elements of Lindsey Buckingham’s 'Holiday Road' to it, but played by a wired bar band in some dive diner in the middle of nowhere. Firstly ‘Deep Warm Something’ showcases Friley’s ability at composition, more importantly it sets up what is to follow. 'Just because something starts all weird and bleak, doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way' it tells us. ‘What’s that Smell?’ is reminiscent of JJ Cale at his most euphoric. Surging guitars mix with pounding drums, as if Hot Chip, The Rapture and !!! all teamed up to produce a posthumous Cale album. Stand-out track ‘I Don’t Feel Right’ feels like a re-working of LCD Soundsystem’s classic ‘Someone Great’. Instead of being all fast and glitchy, it’s slower and fairly more conventional. There is a slight country vibe to it, mainly down to the vocal delivery, but like LCD Soundsystem it’s incredible and showcases Friley’s crooney vocals to perfection.

Instrumental ‘Chinese New Year’ showcases Idiot Glee’s ability to create emotion without using words. The song feels like an old sepia photo of baroque and roll bands from the Sixties. ‘Evergreen Psycho’ and ‘Personal Computer Television’ are chock full of longing and regret. The latter opens with the lines “Have you ever told your brother he’s just the same? Have you ever told your Mom she’s just the same? Have you ever told your priest he’s just the same? Have you ever told your sis she’s just the same?" after the initial confusion passes, Friely crons ‘I’m a stupid boy, you don’t know what I mean. I’m a talking head, I’m on the big TV’ All of this is underpinned by a seemingly clockwork beat, mournful paino and surging bass, that keeps everything moving forward.

Friley has tapped into a rich American tradition of balladeers, but instead of coating the music in a spangly pop sheen he leaves it without that final gloss coat. Some might call this lazy song writing by not fully realising his ideas, but in fact what we are given is a perfect slice of lo-fi pop. You can see the songs' individual parts moving and pulsating under Friley’s rich vocals, which at times sound like sounding like a strung-out Ricky Nelson covering LCD Soundsystem after a heavy night out.