Pom Poko - Birthday (LP)

Pom Poko’s debut, Birthday, landed on 22 February 2019 via Bella Union, and it still feels like someone spiked the punch with neon. The Norwegian quartet walk a tight line between sugar rush pop and prickly, mathy chaos, then pinch your cheek with a hook you hum all week. It’s the sort of first album that sounds both feral and precise, as if the band spent years learning the rules just so they could tear them up with a grin.

Part of that comes down to the players. Ragnhild Fangel Jamtveit sings with a bright, elastic tone that skips across the noise rather than fighting it. Martin Miguel Tonne’s guitar flips between brittle shards and cartoon bends. Jonas Krøvel’s bass keeps finding cheeky counter-melodies, while Ola Djupvik’s drumming darts and pivots like a dancer. They’ve often been linked to the jazz and conservatory scenes back home, which makes sense when you hear how comfortable they are with knotty rhythms, but the joy here feels closer to punk mischief than recital hall rigor. The name Pom Poko nods to the Studio Ghibli film, and that fits too. There’s playfulness and oddball wonder baked into these songs.

“Crazy Energy Night” does exactly what it says on the tin. It sprints out with a clipped guitar figure and breakneck drums, then swerves into a chant that lands like confetti. “My Blood” threads Jamtveit’s sing-song lines through stuttering time changes, until the chorus opens up like a window on a sticky day. “Follow the Lights” glows with chiming guitars and a chorus that sticks, but there’s still a little grit left on the lens. Even in the poppier moments, something is always prodding at the edges. A stray harmonic. A hiccup in the groove. A sudden drop to silence that makes the next blast feel even louder.

Plenty of bands try to mash art-pop and post-punk. What sets Birthday apart is the way it treats those chops like a trampoline rather than a pedestal. You can hear flashes of Deerhoof in the sudden left turns and smiley violence, yet Pom Poko carve out their own voice through melody. Jamtveit never sacrifices a tune for a trick. The songs feel like playgrounds where you can fall off the monkey bars, laugh, and get back up without missing a beat.

The record made a splash on release, drawing praise from publications like Pitchfork, NME and The Line of Best Fit for its whiplash dynamics and sweet-sour hooks. It’s an easy one to recommend to friends who say they want something catchy but weird, or heavy but fun. Put it on at a party and watch heads tilt, then nod, then move. I’ve seen that exact reaction a few times, the moment when a room realises the chorus they’ve been humming comes attached to drums that seem to be playing hopscotch.

If you’re the type who loves a tactile listen, the Birthday vinyl on Bella Union captures that bite. The guitars have a crisp top end, the bass has a spring to it, and the vocals sit just above the fray, clear enough to sing along while still part of the scrum. Pom Poko vinyl doesn’t hang around long in shops either, so if you spot a copy at your local Melbourne record store, grab it and don’t look back. Otherwise, it’s easy to buy Pom Poko records online through the usual indie-friendly outlets. Collectors hunting for Pom Poko albums on vinyl will find this debut a tidy gateway into their world and a fun A-B with their later work when you fancy an afternoon of needle drops. For anyone browsing vinyl records Australia wide, this is one of those modern art-pop gems that sits neatly between the jagged stuff and the sugar.

What keeps me coming back is the sense that Birthday is generous. It’s full of small details, but it never scolds you for missing one. The band trusts the songs to do the heavy lifting, and that trust pays off. You can dig into the gear shifts and odd meters, or you can sing the choruses on your walk to the tram. Either way, it sticks. Five years on, it still feels like a crate-dig find you want to text your mates about the second you drop the needle.