Almost sixty-five years ago, a North American composer introduced a heavy dose of "fun" into popular music, with the intention of lifting the spirits and pulses of a Depressionera audience. The composer was Leroy Anderson, and by blending catchy melodies with upbeat rhythms, he produced music that took the listeners' minds off of their worries. The fanciful gems of "The Syncopated Clock" or "The Bugler's Holiday" were by no means meditative or emotionally taxing; these light and seemingly simple pieces aimed to induce laughter and dancing rather than anguish and contemplation.

Looking at recent popular music, it quickly becomes apparent that this kind of "fun" is an underrated commodity. There is far too much to be upset about these days, and much recent music reflects this moaning pessimism. But the upbeat and perky band Plumtree, made up of four high school girls from Halifax, Nova Scotia, can justly claim to be the heir to the Leroy Anderson throne of popular music. What they lack in melodrama, they make up in pure energy.

Plumtree's music, like Anderson's, is not burdened by deep meaning or heavy handed emotions. These music makers instead strive to set free a powerful melody and let it work its magic. Their sophomore production and first full-length record, Mass Teen Fainting, is a blend of potent songs, merging a fifties surf-garage feel with the driving energy of power pop. Their concoction is a Beach-Boys-meets-Shonen-Knife puree, and cocktail leaves the listener with a smile and a tune to hum.

Made up of two sisters and two friends, Plumtree might sound more like an after-school club than a band. But Plumtree is actually more successful at crafting a song and putting together an album than the majority of bands pigeonholed as "college rock." Their themes are not especially ambitious--many songs deal with teenage experiences and Hitchcock movies--but they are simple and universal. If the band sounds naive, they use naivete to their advantage; the simplicity of the lyrics accentuates their mastery of the music. The songs are necessarily ephemeral, yet it is their charm remains after the music comes to an end.

Musically speaking, Plumtree is always shifting, adapting their techniques to produce new flavors and textures. In the new album's opening song, "Tropical," Carla Gillis (lead guitarist and singer) declares, "I'm sick of your morals, I'm sick of them, My mother told me what to do today!" Yet behind this repetition, two guitarists piece together a surf-rock riff, while the bass (Amanda Braden) roots the song's fervent movement with hard-driving chords. In "The Phone, the Phone," sisters Lynette and Carla blend two different vocal styles and come up with a wonderfully complementary sound. One sister repeats the chorus as the other sarcastically murmurs, "I'm up here in my room again, listening to my entire record collection...Duran Duran are my only friends."

If there is a weakness in Plumtree's efforts on Mass Teen Fainting, it is the communal attitude they take to their music-making: with four band members, all of whom are singers, the microphone is passed around like at a Karaoke party. The band also trades instruments, and as a result, some songs like "Shoot to Scoop" emerge underdeveloped and under-performed.

But the band chooses to sacrifice perfect sound for energy. And even Plumtree's less accomplished songs can't help but inject an adrenaline shot into the listener's arm.