The Baby Teeth Album

Unabashedly crashing through musical territories long abandoned -- mostly due to collective guilt and shame -- The Baby Teeth Album dusts off the centimeter-deep sunshine of Hall and Oates, the feathery foppishness of early Elton John and the muttering navel-gaze of late Van Morrison, then throws them all into a white 1984 Lamborghini Countache and drives it off a cliff in a blaze of suicidal glory. While that may sound melodramatic, these songs are pure melodrama -- like the pop kabuki you used to hear when couples’ skate was winding down at the roller rink.

Over the course of 11 songs, Chicago’s Baby Teeth skates with you through dark alleys populated with lost lovers, bad memories, fantasy brothels and hopes dashed on the sides of rusty dumpsters. The trick is, Baby Teeth is a keys/bass/drums trio, and so while the themes are purposely overcooked, the music never is. This is classic pop songwriting; a return to economic pop forms, featuring lush three-part harmonies, brutal bass playing and skronky electric pianos/organs. The songs themselves are smartly arranged and compact, appealing to both the lovelorn and the punk rock.