Pitchfork

How much lo-fi can the world handle before it breaks into oblivion and scatters into a million pieces? I don't care. I love lo-fi. Good lo-fi, that is. I'm the same as anyone else with some modicum of taste. I like a healthy dose of Sebadoh now and then, though my consumption of Pavement has gotten vastly out of hand according to the USDA's Rock Guide Pyramid.

Pavement. There's something about the guitar which sounds like its six month- old strings are two strums away from snapping and a voice that cracks as it hits the song's climax. It also doesn't hurt that they've got sincerity coming out the proverbial ass. As I always say, "There's nothing wrong with too much sincerety." Yeah, except when the band can't quite pull it off. Luckily for Grandaddy, they're one of Pavement's few contemporaries that can push the sincerity quotient right up to the top of the sinc-o-meter while maintaining their sense of dignity.

The 12 songs on the band's latest long- player, The Broken Down Comforter Collection, are vibrant and crackling with energy. The album's opening number, "Gentle Spike Resort," opens up troubadour- style with frontman Jason Lytle singing his trademark stream- of- consciousness lyrics (something about Whitesnake riffs and lions) over a passionately- strummed acoustic guitar. Later, an organ shows up trying like hell not to disturb your gentle sense of pop bliss. It shuffles underneath, soaking the song in its warm undertow.

What's their secret? A good question. A fine, upstanding question. See, Grandaddy have a formula that works. Theirs are traditional indie pop songs in their most basic, elemental form. A solid, unwavering 4/4 rhythm (and some occasional experimental excursions) with more hooks than Burlington Coat Factory. The songs all follow this template, but it's Lytle's understanding of the pop song on a primal level that gives each song its own distinct flavor.

Lytle's songs are kind of like Will Oldham's black faced teachings, but without all the damnation and irish pub sing- alongs. And with more beards. Although tracks like "Wretched Songs" and the epic instrumental "Egg Hit and Jack Too" (which ain't that long for an "epic," by the way) feature a certain spaciousness that sounds almost natural, like they were recorded in the great woods of the Northwest. The guitars spit out a barely audible overarching crunch. It's the kind of distortion you can really appreciate-- it doesn't sound like it came factory- sealed in a box addressed to the Foo Fighters.

Of course, if you look to deep enough into this album, you'll see some definite nods to Mark Linkous. At times, it's almost as if they've lured his sparkling horse into their own stables and recreated it in their own image. But while somewhat derivitive of pop songs past, Grandaddy are usually able to squeeze out that extra ounce of originality that pushes them into the realm of "really good bands." This album is no exception.