I've always liked artists who appreciated the best from every field, so I don't mind the majority of musicians -- Soft Machine, John Cage, Glenn Gould, Dream Theater -- that others may find pretentious. If they can make a pop song that sounds like it was influenced by Frank Gehry's architecture, Martin Margiela's apparel and the prose of William Gass, how can that be a bad thing? Dickon Edwards's Fosca is an unrepentantly arty band that puts as much thought into its music as its hair -- in other words, quite a bit. Though this sophomore full-length lacks lead vocals from the ladies in the group (who were, in my opinion, the highlight of the group's recent EPs), it is the strongest album I can imagine coming from Edwards; each song is different, and none of them are exercises in new wave, Factory, or Sarah pop.

"I Know I Have Been Happier" is the piano-laden epic for all of us small folk who dream big ("I resent the world for the simple crime / Of ignoring my commands") and hate with humor, while "Secret Crush" is the actualization of teen hormones, dripping from the instruments in high school band. The appearance of such gallery charmers as the violin adds to the shape of the melody, transforming otherwise nasal vocals into the frame of choice for a Whiteread or Emin exhibit.

It's impossible to dismiss Fosca or to blow them aside as mere pop. Without being minimalist, or the slightest bit dull, their music dares you to stare with them at some fucking painting for an hour straight -- and you do, because Fosca's Diary rings true. This Diary of an Antibody surges from start to finish like an authentic, finger-poppin' confessional from guys and gals who want to tell you about their hats, their hair, and the way that people with good taste sometimes feel. It's not exactly as cutthroat as Tracey Emin, perhaps, but it's brilliant stuff for any of us who want to believe that we can be happy tomorrow, if we can only procure that hat...