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SOVIET KITSCH
(Sire)
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This 24-year-old singer-songwriter’s backstory takes in childhood in Russia, adolescence in the Bronx, years of classical piano training, and a felicitous hook-up with the Strokes. But all that doesn’t prepare you for the oddball exuberance of her music. Both Spektor’s melodies and her way of singing them lurch and bob; one minute, she’s declaiming in full Broadway-belter mode, the next, she’s whispering like a mischievous toddler, and her subjects range from being devoured by an estranged lover ("Ode to Divorce") to employing Ben Franklin as a babysitter ("Chemo Limo"). Her third album, and the first to be released by a major label, has a few other players but focuses on Spektor’s own voice and piano. That’s probably just as well — her sense of rhythm is so idiosyncratic that a band might have trouble following her. (Check out the way she accompanies herself by banging the piano with a drumstick on "Poor Little Rich Boy.") Listeners with a low quirkiness threshold may want to steer clear; anyone who appreciates pop that thumbs its nose at formula should consider tuning in.
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