Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, and I'm pretty sure The Blow's Khaela Maricich is from another galaxy (or at least Jupiter). Maricich first made a name for herself as a solo performer and member of Phil Elvrum's lo-fi masterwork The Microphones, but it’s with The Blow (her partnership with laptop guru and YACHT idea man Jona Bechtolt) that she has forged her role as a staple figure of indie female notoriety. Garnering their share of attention as a result of 2006's Paper Television, many were unaware of the spitfire heroine with seemingly unprecedented audacity that fronted The Blow. But it was on the band’s debut, limited edition, EP Poor Aim: Love Songs (originally released in 2004), that Maricich honed her electric persona by remaining so earnestly revealing that it became impossible not to commiserate when she was ailing or swagger when riding high. I've never met a girl like her, but through the record, she becomes an intimate companion. Gender aside, she is both candid and relatable for any victim of human interaction who might cringe at their social missteps or awkward blunders. Bold in her occasional inelegance and backed by Bechtolt's crafty electronic textures, the result is a balanced taste of uplifting, frisky numbers that lyrically reflect a sometimes clumsy personal discourse.

Spiced up for a K records re-issue, Poor Aim: Love Songs now contains a ‘remix’ section, including seven alternate versions on top of the six track, 17-minute burst and bustle of the original. Mostly minor embellishments, the subsequent re-imagining of the natural tracks do provide playful, if not entertaining, interpretations. Constructed by mostly Washington-based artists, friends and tour-mates, the remix portion is a friendly affair, as even Jonah and Khaela get in on the action, each redoing a track on their own. The YACHT remix of 'Hock It' conjures a rubber-band orchestra of loose drums, and loops the title line to create a recognisably different chorus from the blurty synths in the song's sexed-up verses. Successfully clubbed up, vocoder-ed vocal loops are a reoccurring theme on the album's second half, with each of the EP's stand out tracks receiving a similar chopped, spliced and screwed treatment.

But the album's original portion is where the majority of the charm does rest. The stomp-clap hip hop beat of 'Hey Boy' gives way to a wry lettered outline of possible reasoning, as Maricich's introspection on a boy's dismissal becomes our own reflection. "A, you're gay/B, you've got a girlfriend/C, you kind of thought I came on too strong/or, D, I just wasn't your thing, no ring," she sings, and as a listener, you share her incredulity.

It's this every-girl/Supergirl line that Maricich bounces between on Poor Aim: Love Songs that makes her such an engaging character, her outspoken insecurities balanced by a 'talk to the hand' sass. The distorted drums and laptop flute sounds of 'The Sky Opened Wide Like The Tide' recall a sparser Of Montreal but the running dialogue, with our protagonist eager to hunt down the hip kids (their presence solidified in background chants of "We're right over here!") is beyond endearing as armour is shed in favour of vulnerability. Similarly, the elastic jounce behind 'Knowing The Things That I Know' provides a duality to the soft side, but your heart can't help but break when Maricich sing-songs diary entry lines like, "You doubt my crying face/and since you don't believe me should I cover up and fake it?/Or just sit here with your disbelief and know that I can take it?"

Heartache aside, The Blow write feel-good pop songs. And while they may share melody and syntax with indie bands like electro-rockers the Faint ('Hock It') or a vocal inflection with the likes of label-mate Mirah (also formerly of The Microphones), there is a distinct and deliberate reference to Top 40 radio throughout the album. With only one exception, prior to the remix portion of the re-issue, each song on Poor Aim clocks in at under three-minutes, succinctly packaged for maximum digestibility. Electronic qualities not far from the Neptunes or Timbaland ground each song in familiar territory and Maricich's hooks are cute and cuddly. A bare-it-all diaristic, it's her cleverness, sincerity and candour that prevent any inclinations of artificiality or synthetics. Spears, Aguilera, and Clarkson take note, because if boys drooled over Khaela Maricich and girls sang spirited renditions of The Blow intro their hairbrushes, the world would be a better place.