Over the last decade or so, New Zealand has generated any number of terrific records. Bands with funny names like the Clean, the Chills, Tall Dwarfs, Bailter Space and the Bird Nest Roys have made and still make some of the freshest, most raggedy indie pop music ever, nearly all of it released by the famed Flying Nun label. Partly because of their often incestuous family ties, New Zealand groups share a genius for strong, simple melodies and organic crunch, and Dunedin's Straitjacket Fits carry on the tradition, adding their own, more rarefied pop sense. After stoking fires with their previous record, Hail, and their even more transcendent live shows, their major-label debut, Melt, has them poised to become one of the most visible kiwi bands to hit these shores.

At first listen, Melt suggests that the Fits' strategy is similar to that of the hordes of Anglo mop-top bands that have invaded MTV of late: Play thick rock, and float sweet, dreamy vocals on top of it. But with the tortured mind of singer-guitarist Shayne Carter and the superior drumming of John Collie, the Fits' songs have real tangles in them, and their bittersweetness is barbed. At their friendliest, they recall the potsmoking Beatles of Rubber Soul or Revolver, while at other times they achieve a fiercer glow – "Bad Note for a Heart," "A.P.S." and "Headwind" hit peaks that are heavier than pop and prettier than rock and that shade the distinction between the two. At moments like these, Melt feels like a heady walk in the mountains, with choruses expanding like vistas and key changes that feel like the wind shifting direction.

The Fits' grandiosity sometimes goes overboard – the end of "Down in Splendour" brings to mind Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" – but not more so than the lyrics, which often smack of high-IQ, late-adolescent angst. They can draw you into dreamy spaces, but the Fits are most exciting when they undercut their own tendency to become comfortably numb.

While the chorus of "Melt Against Yourself" seduces the listener with soft sounds at once regal and sad, Collie's ominous pulse, a weird chord and the line "You can't be content with now" snap you back. As with many Leonard Cohen tunes, the Fits' best songs, "A.P.S.," "Quiet Come" and "Skin to Wear," are actually less pretty than they sound at first – and the odd, beautiful melodies that Carter yanks out of the chords suggest anxiety more than pleasure. (RS 611)

ERIK DAVIS