Swedish dance chanteuse Sally Shapiro, who sounds even more childlike and earnest than hipster-approved Euro diva Annie, one-ups the competition with sappy Italo-disco love songs more plastic and delicious than a crate of Twinkies. While Shapiro’s shy, adolescent coo and wounded heart are key-she supposedly demands solitude in the studio when laying down vocals-producer Johan Agebjørn’s indulgent tracks make the record. His songs are a hazy, neon-colored synth-pop dream, keytar solos mixed with the cheesiest of escapist, electro-fueled ’80s film soundtracks. Shapiro doesn’t showcase much range or dimension, but it’s unnecessary when floating atop beats that are the guiltiest of guilty pleasures.