Various Artists: Labrador
Labrador 100, A Complete History of Popular Music

Comin’ the fuck up as a youngsta, I didn’t really respect fans of wee little twee. In fact, I thought people who based their indie identities on such weaklings didn’t, to paraphrase Tracyanne Campbell, know their elbows from their asses. Years later there’s still a part of me that sneers at the flatter pancakes of the batch, but I can’t refute the Rule of Genre Exploration: If you delve deep enough, you’ll find gold. Or at least silver. Labrador 100 is the strongest twomp (twee compilation) I’ve heard, but it still reveals almost as many embarrassing tracks as meritorious ones. The sequencing doesn’t help, as it sticks to a timeline structure (one song from each of Labrador's 100 releases), but with a century’s-worth of songs to choose from, there’s more than enough to go around, and if you subscribe to pop of any sort you’ll find plenty to enjoy.

In most cases, we’re talking Pop without the Tart. Nary a shout can be heard from the Labrador vocalists, a group of cute-’n’-cunning fems and heartbroken lads. Disc One is dance-driven with an indie core of tracks holding it together. “This and That” is a tune to shake hips to -- it’s also simply horrible, even if it does contain ye trusty instrumental flourish (a twee trademark). The same can be said of “He Loves Anna” by Waltz For Debbie and “Charlotte” by Permer, two tracks that should be kicked out of indie-house. And yet much beauty can be found: Leslies’ “Ignorance” is a shimmering vehicle with a thudding rhythm and more ties to punk – post- or otherwise – than to tweeee. If you wink at Los Fancy Free’s funk-driven “Honey Watch That Man,” it might slap your ass, and when Lasse Lindh says she’s “Bruised,” you’ll believe her, but don’t believe your senses completely; she’s a man, baby!

Disc Two, like the first, doesn’t blow its wad early. Unlike the first, its quality is consistently upper-tier. You can hear a still-fledgling label waddling to its feet and stretching its legs out. The Radio Dept. and Legends summon The Jesus and Mary Chain in the exact opposite way. Tribeca start a block party in your pants with flare-filled beats, but it’s all deception – they’re about to Pop all over your face prematurely. And that’s alright, because [ingenting] are going to wash it off with crystal-clear jangle-rock, followed by the after-soak rinse of Douglas Heart’s “Smoke Screen,” another house-off with strange strains of shoegaze attached like silver streamers. And this is only a sliver of the bounty Disc Twa has to offer, what with 25 slices to divvy up.

Disc Three starts with the sort of lyrical premise that’ll haunt a reviewer’s dreams. Pelle Carlberg narrates the story of calling a reviewer who has assigned his work a paltry grade. I guess he’ll have to call me too, because he sucks. Ok ok, he’s actually not too bad, I just couldn’t resist the punchline; still, his lyrical journey does become wearying after a spell. Much more punchy are the tracks from Suburban Kids With Biblical Names, the where-have-you-been-all-my-life Sambassadeur, and Hanky & Panky, the twee-est band I’ve ever heard…in a good, even great, way. By this time any resistance is futile. You’ve been sucked into Labrador’s world and that’s that.

Truth be told, Disc Four tails off a bit, but perhaps I’ve had too much sugar poured down my agape gullet at this point. Considering the sketchy nature of label comps, I send a tip of the cap Labrador’s way for 100. It’s simply huge and huge-sounding – no matter your persuasion, there’s likely a nerve to be struck if you aren’t afraid to strap it on. Make sure you have a few days, as 100 songs can seem like an eternity no matter how well they’re sequenced.