From the spoonerism in the title to the puckish opener ‘Nerds In Love’, Burgers Frown quickly establishes Sydney’s Fergus Brown as a cheeky songwriter who doesn’t take himself too seriously. It’s disappointing then to listen as the album ultimately collapses into syrupy sentimentality after stacking up so many solid tunes around Brown’s strengths early on. By the closing whimper of ‘Cecilia Later’, one might be hard-pressed to remember that breezy initial appeal.

‘Nerds In Love’ is nothing groundbreaking, but it’s cute, catchy, and uncluttered. It also has a point – weighing the narrator’s geeky tendencies against fleeting hipster emblems – and sticks to it. It’s like a more obvious take on a Darren Hanlon single, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Another winner is ‘John, She Was Never Only Dancing’, which answers a Bowie classic with panache. It opens with an insistent acoustic before layering in keys, drums, electric guitar and a tongue-in-cheek dose of Bowie mimicry. Like Brown’s best songs, it’s keenly observed and musically propulsive, blessed with clear production and effective guests (Jack Ladder, Dappled Cities’ Tim Derricourt and Decoder Ring’s Matt Steffen appear, among others).

The full-band ‘Hot Kisses, Cold Tiles’ is equally likeable, especially when Brown cites his subject’s panda-like makeup, while ‘Little Verse’ comes peppered with ticklish sounds, including seeping violin, incidental percussion and background chatter. It’s with ‘I’m Just A Caterer’s Daughter’ that Brown starts to get into trouble. He opens with singing as dewy as Nick Drake, and though the lyrics yield intriguing quirks, slow and melancholy doesn’t work as well for him as bright-eyed and punchy. That said, the quiet ‘Last Winter’ succeeds due to Brown’s more natural singing and unexpected flickers of experimentation.

Starting with ‘Shower Me With Pity’, the final four songs are a real drag. Brown is suddenly so concerned with delicate singing and melancholic themes that he doesn’t dare risk upping the pace or embracing his rascally side. ‘Cooler Than Ruth’ is wistful and sleepy to a fault, and ‘Little Pinks Or Blues’ hits rock bottom with woeful, over-repeated lines: “You’re all I think about” and “Watch me die now.” ‘Cecila Later’ runs the refrain, “There’s a pillow where her body was”, well and truly into the ground. Even when he reverses it (“There’s a body where the pillow was”), the damage has been done.

None of this is to condemn Burgers Frown, however. Half the album is brimming with charisma, which simply makes the other half suffer by comparison. And by bunching the saddest, weakest songs together at the end, Brown leaves us on a lower note than the earlier songs deserve. Some listeners may accept all of his work with open arms, but if his future output hews closer to the spirit of ‘Nerds In Love’ and ‘John, She Was Never Only Dancing’, there wouldn’t have to be a unwieldy comedown from the giddy joys Brown has to offer.

by Doug Wallen