But I find Adam Green easy to love, and Sixes and Sevens is a silly, fun, impulsive-feeling pop collage. It veers away from the string-section-fueled melodrama found on 2006's Jacket Full of Danger and instead finds Green adopting the persona of a free-associating, very tongue-in-cheek troubadour.
Sixes and Sevens is incredibly eclectic, jumping all over the pop-music map, from the Don Ho-esque "Tropical Island," to the Motown-inspired "Twee Twee Dee," to the glittering Brill Building sound of "Broadcast Beach," to the bluegrass-tinged "Grandma Shirley and Papa." As diverse as the song stylings are, the production quality is consistently excellent. The vocals are crisp and breezy, and every nuance of the instrumentation, from hi-hat to organ pipe to jangly guitar, is impeccable.
Sixes and Sevens feels like the music you'd hear in the lounge of a cruise ship, or a third-tier hotel off the Vegas Strip, but I mean this as a huge compliment. It's flashy, erratic, cheeky and joyful--kind of like a distillation of what's best about pop music. Sorry, haters.
