Flotation Toy Warning Bluffer's Guide to the Flight Deck

What's in a name? Well, in the case of Flotation Toy Warning, it's a wake up call for the careless: their drummer had a brush with Death after ill-advisedly falling asleep on a lilo. The band now feels that it's their duty to inform the world of the latent peril inherent in the irresponsible use of inflatable toys.

This caveat aside, their music could be the result of a brief peach schnapps fuelled romance between Mercury Rev and The Flaming Lips. These influences are no more evident than on the first track, Happy 13, a charmingly compelling tune that finds its way onto your internal playlist faster than you can say "talentless git with a goat for a hat". Sorry, enough about The Flaming Lips, we won't let our prejudice colour this review any further. Anyway, this track hangs around a looping melody that should be irritating but is instead as quirkily pleasing as the vocals, and a controlled breakdown featuring drummer Colin 'nine lives' Coxall. Examine its constituent parts and eccentricity abounds: sea samples, humming and injunctions to 'leave all shiny objects behind'. This cacophony of bizarre samples, unrecognisable instruments and peculiar lyrics is maintained throughout the album but never once tries the patience because these are, basically, good tunes.

In Made from Tiny Boxes, vocalist Paul Carter operatically professes, a propos nothing at all, 'I love Unicorns' before adding nonchalantly 'And I loved you once'. This introduces an undercurrent of wistfulness that hints at a theme of jaded love and tired sentiment: an intermittent sincerity amidst the jaunty surrealism. The most succinct expression of this is Donald Pleasance; we say succinct, but at nearly ten minutes it's a considerably involved study of protracted goodbyes and stale intimacy. The weary intonation of the line 'A tiny useless fucking shelter' provides the most astute application of the word 'fucking' we've heard in years. Too worn-out to be bitter, it's a worthy use that conveys the original impact of a word that's been blunted by its ubiquity.

Let's not dwell too much on this, the album doesn't ('You won't be bringing me down this time'). It's back down the rabbit hole for track six, which kicks off with a distorted voice repeating 'Big pig... Bad dog' and grows into light-hearted tune that reaffirms what this band is all about: oddity and enjoyable music. Despite moments of introspection, the levity is sustained throughout the album and you come away feeling like you've been taken on a trip to the Arctic by a band of earnest penguins, foxtrotted under the aurora and had you pocket picked by a seal.

Now we mention it, Flotation Toy Warning seem to have some sort of obscure affinity with all things Arctic. Their official site features an elaborate ruse to set themselves up as a boreal phenomenon brought back to the British Museum in the 19th Century, and the inlay card is replete with icebergs, penguins and arcane scientific apparatus. As if this wasn't enough, they also claim to be test pilots, lepidopterists and pioneers with a common interest in astrophonics. Get the picture?

This is an accomplished album but one which only really shines in its moments of individuality. When Flotation Toy Warning's sound matures beyond this promising debut, we believe they will produce a great album. Perhaps it is just a matter of stepping out from the shadow of their at times all too obvious influences.

Incidentally, if Flotation Toy Warning are reading, may we suggest Fluffer's Guide to the Cockpit as a 2nd album? Just a thought.