A Million Suns

The Killjoys: "A Million Suns" (Mushroom)

If your impression of the little man who hangs over a wall by his hands and nose is a discouraging or depressive one, then The Killjoys are certainly no 'killjoys,' that's for sure. Furthermore, with the consistent presence of jingle-jangling guitars and the rusticated silkiness of Anna Burley's smoothly considered vocals A Million Suns is not an inappropriate header to the thirteen tracks which come under the glare of critical inspection here.

Indeed, speaking of things like the signification of names, the title of the eleventh track, 'Trains & Rocks & Riverbeds', with the addition, perhaps, of lovers' beds, gives as good a sense as any of the mood and feel of this disc from the Australian five-piece.

Tracing once more the course of a relationship from beginning to end, the ostensible upbeatness of The Killjoys' sound masks a reflective and melancholy inclination which is nowhere better exemplified than on the seventh and middle number 'Pray For Rain' which in many ways is the core song. It is one of only two tunes which step out of the first and into the third person to narrate a tale of extraordinary poignancy with great perspicacity. "Her hands are cracked, the rings lay waste/ On her window sill/The years of work are carved in her/Reminding her still/ Is this what it's like?/ Pray for rain/Pray for rain/ The still roaring heat grows louder each day/And sometimes when the family's there/The aunts never speak/They all know he's been missing now for more than a year."

The twist comes in the last chorus when Anna Burley switches back into the first person to inform us "This is what it's like/Pray for rain/Pray for rain." Second up in the listed order of play, 'Beauty & Danger' is the other selection which steps into the impersonal but, by comparison, it is a whimsical, yet cautionary, tale of the unreliability of them old introductory and impulsive, cupid-inspired missives.

Elsewhere, the highlights are the ironically called 'A Pop Song', three gorgeous minutes about those heart-rending moments of self examination after she has thrown him out. 'Five Minute Waltz', the most distinctive ditty on display, carouses through a carousel of mistakes underscored by a vaudevillian and sardonic tuba, as it recalls how brief the most intense of relationships can appear once they've ended. The penultimate epitaph, 'I lied' marks the point at which forgiveness and self-awareness arrives without yearning for reconciliation or apology.

The final offering is actually a bonus number, 'Where's My Teddy.' (Looks like teddies are about the only thing you can rely on these days!) Nevertheless, The Killjoys are here.

• Patrick Brennan