Melbourne’s Little Red are one of the freshest breaths of air to have blown through the increasingly stuffy musical world of late.

It was of no great surprise to anyone who had seen Little Red live (except perhaps those that witnessed them at Erinsborough’s most versatile licensed venue – Charlies) to see the band the subject of much cheque-book waving and promise proffusing by A & R reps aplenty. The band has tapped a rich, lustrous vein of musical gold. They harness honey-voiced harmonies and set it to crackling beats and rhythms and dress it up sharper than Edward Scissorhand’s handshake. You can’t help be affected by the simple, yet unavoidably infectious, cheeky brilliance and the unsullied pure fun of it all.

The aptly named opening track Coca Cola is quite possibly the best advertisement for said soft-drink that money could ever buy. Talk about refreshment. This album comes at you like some large overbearing puppy that charges at you and bundles you over, but only for nothing more sinister than to lick your face.

It is not all froth and bubble; there are some solid injections of real feeling in there. Yet it has always been an anomaly of musical history that some of the chipper-est music imaginable can be cajoled into conveying some serious sentiment. But for the most part this is playful pop milking that wondrously naive boy/girl interaction that they may dare and dream and wait so long so that one dreamy day they may end dabbling in some euphoric hand holding or, if the planets all align – a kiss (ooh err!).

They may well request you to – œListen to Little Red’ on the album’s spine, but I’m sure – œDance to Little Red’ would be their real motive. This release will surely be the (suavely shoed) foot in the door to bigger and better things for the band.