Brunettes on a different planet

By REBECCA BARRY

Heather Mansfield rolls a cigarette and dangles it, unsmoked, as she talks. Equally as tardy as her intentions for this post-breakfast vice is her Brunettes bandmate and chief songwriter Jonathan Bree.

"He's always late," she explains, unfazed. "Late nights, late rises." Anyway, it will give her a chance to say stuff while he's not around.

"I reckon Jonathan is the one who tried to get people to call us bubblegum pop," she says, slightly unimpressed. "Or pop'n'roll. Most people think of Britney Spears when they hear that term, whereas Jonathan thinks of Tommy James and the Shondelles."

Whatever their music is, with its lovey-dovey boy-girl lyrics, doo-wop choruses and kitsch synths and organs, it's more than the twee-pop confection that first meets the ear.

For starters, Mansfield cracks up when asked about her relationship with Bree. They dated years ago but are now more like brother and sister. "We argue and make up and stuff. It's fine."

They also get a kick out of dressing up in op shop chic and posing as star-crossed lovers in photos, adding a dash of mysterious Jack and Meg White tension to the duo. On record they boast a Nancy Sinatra/Lee Hazlewood compatibility, like Doris Day seducing Lou Reed over an icecream soda.

These days when they play live, there are a few more instruments to navigate.

Joining their bandmates James Milne and Ryan McPhun (whose tools include bass, percussion, Chamberlin and vibraphone), Mansfield plays everything from glockenspiel, organ, piano, harmonica and clarinet, sometimes more than one in a song.

Bree adds splices of banjo, sitar and drum machine to his guitar and bass. He also plays Optigan - a sampler-type instrument borrowed from Neil Finn on their new second album, Mars Loves Venus, marking a more experimental approach than debut album Holding Hands, Feeding Ducks.

A few other things have changed.

"My voice might have got a little deeper," says Mansfield, nodding towards her ciggy.

They've also loosened the reins a little, with Bree recording and producing the album in his Kingsland flat and Mansfield's parents' garage - with beautifully lo-fi results.

"There are bits on the album where I'm definitely singing off-key," she laughs. "I don't mind. I kind of listen for that bit. At first I was like, 'Oh no'. But it's just different sort of music and it works for me anyway."

Lyrically, it's darker. Bree, in particular, felt frustrated that some of the wittier, more subversive elements of their first album went unnoticed because of the faux-naive aesthetic they'd created.

Mansfield: "I know some people see it like a cartoon. But I don't see there's any danger in it. If people are turned off by it it's still fun. It's still fun to do the photo shoots and to dress up.

"It's compatible with the music, although it's sometimes confused. There's definitely a lot more to the music than peaches'n'cream but sometimes people get a bit mixed up because the imagery is so strong. It has been for Holding Hands, Feeding Ducks anyway."

Besides, contrasting the cutesy romance of Loopy Loopy Love are poetic numbers traversing some awkward themes: mismatched couples on Too Big For Gidgit, petty jealousy on Bestfriend Envy and premature ejaculation on Whale in the Sand: "It's washed up beached. It was so big but now it's dead."

They also name-check veteran film critic Leonard Maltin on Leonard Says, one of the album's many references to popular culture. Mansfield calls it a "sick fascination".

"Jonathan watches a lot of TV, romance movies, 60s B-grade movies that have a bit of innocence in them. And he reads adult comic books like Eight Ball.

"At the moment he's into Mary-Kate and Ashley. They've got songs as well. They're a commodity. They have books and CDs. They sing songs like, 'I'm the prettier one', and it's really bad.

"Remember [the book series] The Babysitter's Club?" she continues, her eyes lighting up. "I love all these trashy sort of easy-to-read things. Sweet Valley High ... "

Just as the interview wafts into an excited discussion about long-lost literature, a dishevelled Bree enters the room, dressed in an old man's cardy, a skinny tie and a beanie with a pompom on top.

Late night then?

"I just generally have late nights," he says, rubbing his face sleepily. "Late nights, late rises."

Heard it all before.