Flowered up consists of five London boys who dress like bus drivers and are clearly fond of both nature and a drug popular among young English musicians. It specializes in a kind of danceable space pop laced with influences both respectable and absurd – "It's On," for example, wafts in on Men at Work's flutes, backed groggily by Velvet Underground-style bass and piano, with freaked-out wah-wah guitar and unrelentingly sneering vocals leading the way. In spite of the songs' standard ecstasy-influenced titles ("Hysterically Blue," "Egg Rush," "Doris ... Is a Little Bit Partial"), Liam Maher's thick cockney accent renders lyrics moot; he could be shrieking non sequiturs or calling for revolution, but the listener doesn't have to care, because the music is purely out for a good time.

So, it seems, is the band. Flowered Up writes swell tunes and plays with loads of happy atmosphere but, unaccountably, treats the result like empty-headed pop. While being harrumphed at by a peeved male version of Eliza Doolittle for ten straight songs has its charms, the instruments and samples don't take the music any further than its pleasant core of dance drums and groovy hooks; they're there for the fact of their inclusion alone. No sooner do you pick up on one intriguing oddity (oh, violins) than the band hauls in another (isn't that U2's chiming guitar?) then hurries it offstage. The question of whether the lads in Flowered Up are the cockney Happy Mondays, clever pop archivists or undiscriminating morons may be answered an album or two down the road, but depending on your disposition, A Life With Brian can make a fine argument for all three. (RS 625)

ARION BERGER