Well I'm certainly getting around to this review late in the game, especially for such a gem. It kept falling victim to the "something else more pressing always bumping it off the front burner" syndrome. Still, for a band this fun and fascinating, late beats the hell out of never. Though their name would lead one to expect fun of the novelty variety, The Kooks, however, are not quite so easy to pigeon-hole. They're far more about the kind of fun you have when you stumble onto an album full of strong dancey, rocking indie-pop tracks - clever, both lyrically and musically. Not since the Futureheads have I've heard such a brilliantly assured debut. Everything about this album, from it's rambunctious bounders ala. Kaiser Chiefs, Wolf Parade, to their more acoustic-driven, spritely janglers ala. Billy Bragg, Supergrass," and on to the early Police-action kind of skaggae that dots the latter third of the record, everything just announces the arrival of the coolest new band of the year.

They have some of the swagger of the Libertines, but with the goods to back it up. With only one or two exceptions each song starts off like a challenge and ends like a promise kept. Their sort of easy confidence reminds of the Kinks, sometimes musically, but mostly just that attitude of unassuming brilliance. They also embody one of the other hallmarks of the Kinks which is to keep their music fun. Somehow they even imbue melancholy with fun. It's their often impossible fusions of genre from reggae-ska plowing right into some wicked white-boy funk - even some terrific guitar solos occasionally rip through as a segue that somehow makes the most illogical madness work like magic. It's their musical bravado that makes their moniker a good fit. But as far as the loopy, daft connotation of the word - it really doesn't suit the band at all. For all I know they pronounce it the cooks - which would be apropos, because these young lads from Brighton whip up some gourmet indie-pop flambes that start with a bang and settle into tasty grooves.

Lead singer Luke Pritchard uses his considerable vocal ability like a virtuoso violinist fooling around between Chopin, Oh Susanna, and the Devil went down to the Orange Blossom Special. Sometimes you'll hear playful warbling ala. Stephen Bays, even a young and insouciant Fran Healy - his limitless register and ridiculous array of timbre allow him to take a song anywhere he fancies and what makes it all so cool is that he doesn't take any of it - not his insane vocal gift, or these terrific songs in the least bit seriously. True toward the end of this 14 track opus there are a few tracks where their youthful insipience shows through, and there's no question that none of this would hold up if Pritchard were a vapid lyricist, but he can turn a pretty mean phrase and sing the shit out of it, play it straight, tongue in cheek, ironic - Inside In/Inside Out - now that's just fun. It doesn't get any better than that.

FYI the album will get a release on Sept. 26, By all appearances it's still technically an Import, but will be released with a domestic price point. Lucky me, I wasn't so late after all.