Portland trio Starfucker have a name that won't get them sold in Wal-Mart and a live show that reportedly includes a full-blown theatrical experience complete with costumes. And now they have a full album, the wilfully slight STARFUCKER. A combination of kitchen sink synth-pop and shuffling indie, STARFUCKER thrives on brief moments of micro-mini catchiness that you can't shake. Breathy opener "Florida" would not sound out of place played in the more enlightened cosmopolitan parts of said Sunshine State, "German Love" is campy and glittering, and "Pop Song" is a grand fist-pumper fueled by squelchy synths.

Popping up seemingly out of nowhere in the Portland indie scene, Starfucker made waves quickly and generated a big time buzz on the PDX Pop Now! circuit as an adventurous synth pop/indie rock trio with a memorable live set -- becoming the most talked about "it" trio in the city of roses since Menomena first hit the scene. Coincidentally, Josh Hodges, Ryan Bjornstad, and Shawn Glassford's debut album capitalizes on the same digitally manipulated indie pop sheen that defined Menomena's debut, with some additional chips added to the ante. The new dual drumming sensations add lush MGMT retro keyboard arrangements, the soft, breathy vocal style and articulate basslines of Pinback, and the acoustic-meets-drum machine and computer glitches of Yoshimi-era Flaming Lips to the mix in their update to the formula. The standout track of the album, "German Love," cops the sound of the Lips' "Do You Realize" practically verbatim as a sunshiny but sleepy digitized ditty with only the lyrics, "German love, I will give it to you" and "She won't have a thing to do with me" drifting by sweetly, like a Mac-made lullaby. This simple, easygoing mood stretches throughout the recording, which makes for a nice listen, but because a lot of the songs blend together in this pleasant, dreamlike state, they're tough to remember by the record's finish, and they fade quickly from memory, as old dreams tend to do. Only one song has an actual full set of lyrics, with complete verses, and the instrumentals are especially forgettable, acting only as repetitive synthesized filler to push the album over the 30-minute mark. Yes, it's short, and yes, much of the disc lacks substance, but like a bag of marshmallows, there's enough light and fun fluff to make it enjoyable until the sugar buzz wears off and the yawns begin. In short doses, songs like "Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second" and the dazzling dirty Rhodes jamboree "Pop Song" could be the perfect prescription to brighten up a rainy Northwestern morning. The rest is better for brunch-time background music or an early afternoon nap. ~ Jason Lymangrover