Tralala

Joey Ramone, quoting the great Herman's Hermits, once summed up punk's greatest beauty and biggest fault in one lightning-flash of a couplet: "Second verse/ same as the first." Though there's a bit more variety than that on the debut LP from Tralala, Joey's edict applies like drugstore lipstick. Tralala is an incredibly self-aware album, as the Brooklyn gals (and dudes, who do not sing) handclap and pirouette to Motown girl groups and the Ramone family, harmonize and coo over big beats and bigger guitars and remind us of a time when Phil Spector was more than just a gun-toting weirdo with hay-bale hair. Start with "All Fired Up" and "Stop Pretending," and then shimmy your way through the rest.