Pitchfork

Kazutaka Nomura bristles at this idea: Serious music has to be austere to be taken seriously. So the biographical materials that accompany the wandering, zero-percent-serious Pwrfl Power seem to position this noisenik's acoustic debut as a brave "statement record," a flag-waver that proudly maintains, Weird Can Be Important Too. Of course, that isn't a wrongheaded sentiment at all. Only problem is, the statement is rarely backed up by Nomura's songs, which spend far too much time on shock tactics and broken English cheerleader lyrics to make convincing cases for themselves.

In a perfect world, Pwrfl Power would showcase Nomura's oft-impressive mastery of the acoustic guitar. As it stands, the album's eleven tracks dabble in Guthrie picking, Kottke alchemy, and even a bit of Ogurusu Norihide quietude. But you have to strain to notice the fanning of styles. What Nomura forces the listener to pay attention to, almost exclusively, is his words-- the presumably put-on ESL awkwardness, childlike nonsense, and whimsy he scatters atop his pieces. Sure, defend all you want, but whether or not the Japanese expat is employing a shtick, songs about dead birds, retarded dogs, and tomatoes simply feel contrived.

Of course, when he's lucky enough to find a convincing sentiment, the wide-eyed innocent thing actually works. "It's Okay"'s warm refrain of "It's okay to be yourself, because you are you"-- currently soundtracking an eSurance ad-- opens the album brilliantly, making an impact with a sort of "duh" wisdom. Likewise, when Nomura sings of falling for an unattractive girl on "Alma Song", there's something endearing in his clueless bluntness. But such qualities don't make it into clunkers like the straight-jacketed "Heaven, Dog, and Rainbow", or "Let Me Teach You How to Hold Chopsticks", a whacked pop number about teaching a girl to hold chopsticks, and not beating her up because she's pretty.

Strangely (or maybe predictably), abuse is a theme that emerges several times throughout. Especially on the lengthy "Soft Boy", a semi-narrative about a soured romance told from the perspective of a female. "I've been waiting," sings the spurned protagonist, hovering over her cell phone. "Hit me back, hit me back, hit me back, hit me back, or just hit me, like you used to do." The fact that it's Nomura's stab at a compelling narrative (and not a non sequitur-laced vignette about losing your keys or roadkilled cats) helps the song climb to the top of the heap here. Indeed, it's the only instance in which Nomura pulls off the damaged weirdo bit successfully, and ironically, the most austere moment on this seriously strange record.