{grate 3/4}

The very phrase “Los Campesinos!” epitomizes the irreverence and exuberance of this seven-piece group, hailing despite whatever border-town taco stand the name suggests — from Wales.
Their sophomoric album We are Beautiful, We are Doomed crams together lush layers of strings, horn, heyboard and glockenspeil into just 10 brief tracks; and while all that noise might suggest absolute sonic chaos, a formula soon emerges: vaguely danceable pop beats eternally receding into an emotional gripe fest. The bandits wash, rinse and repeat, but rarely accelerate into a riotous orgy of Debbie Downer lyrics crossed with paradoxically exuberant instrumentation.
For all the bouncy pizazz, the title track ascertains emo bearings in the blunt declaration “We kid ourselves, there’s future in the fucking/ But there is no fucking future.” Sure, we’ve seen this sort of thing before — most notably in the heavier rock-out of Panic! at the Disco — but Los Campesinos! (note the similar exclamatory nod) slip in enough innovation to escape the trenches of whiny indie-pop redundancy.
Perhaps it’s the back-and-forth of two distinct vocalists — male gruff engaged in lyrical sparring with pleasantly soothing female croaning — that soften their songs’ bleak implications, or maybe it’s the novelty of a good and true British accent — always exotically attractive. But in any case, We are Beautiful, We are Doomed isn’t nearly as dull as its premise would suggest, and worthy at least of a cursory listen.