Pitchfork

It's always great to hear a band known for their so-so records suddenly make one where everything clicks. Rilo Kiley's self-titled debut was catchy and smart, but erratic; the follow-up, last year's Take Offs and Landings, came off as languid and lazily paced, with undistinguished writing. Now the L.A. quartet has recorded an album for Omaha, Nebraska's Saddle Creek-- home to Bright Eyes and The Faint, among countless others-- and it surpasses all of their earlier work: it's a dynamic album with intriguing lyrics, a country/folk shimmer, and explosive pop moments.

Jenny Lewis and Blake Sennett-- singers, guitarists, and incidentally, both grown-up child actors-- front the band and write the material. They're joined by Pierre de Reeder and Jason Boesel on bass and drums, and some eclectic guest musicians (some pedal steel, but also accordion, strings, and even a little vibraphone for color). Almost all of this stuff is used tastefully on the diverse material, and though this is their most complicated production so far, it stays loose enough for sudden explosions and guitar solo outbursts.

Lewis, singing lead on almost every song, is more restrained but more effective than on the earlier albums. She switches between two styles: at times she's blunt and plain-spoken, taking no shit and saying "fuck" a lot, which gets her compared to Liz Phair, everyone's favorite empowered indie rocker; at others, she takes on a quieter, melodic voice, marked by a bit of twang and a twinge of something doubtful-- an emotional edge that can be interpreted a dozen ways; it could hint that she doesn't believe herself, but more likely, that she doesn't think you believe her. This edge enriches her bitter lyrics and helps the ecstatic ones soar.

The words here are descriptive and articulate, but gracefully rendered. Perfect images and phrases litter the verses, some of them upbeat but more of them conflicted, like the scattered confrontations in "Paint's Peeling". Lewis also gets autobiographical in her almost stilted poetry on "And That's How I Choose to Remember It", a calliope-sounding song about her parents that's been cut in three pieces and (somewhat obtrusively) slipped between the main tracks.

Around these frequently bleak lyrics, Lewis and Sennett wrote catchy and energetic music, with perfect hooks and choruses that knock down the walls. "Paint's Peeling" and the title track have both entered "repeat" mode on my disc player, and the lilting strings on "Capturing Moods" are plain addictive. Blake Sennett's turn on the loping "So Long" and the anthemic "Three Hopeful Thoughts" are effective, as well; he isn't a striking singer or, let's face it, as charismatic as Lewis, but he's genuine enough to sell lines like, "I hope that I drive tonight/ Into the last of the great sunrises."

You could call The Execution of All Things a feel-good album, but there's enough going on that it rarely sounds like froth. Aside from a couple of twee missteps-- like the hyper-bouncy keyboards on "My Slumbering Heart"-- the band almost always hits the right tone: they do Americana without the alt-country cliches and cowpoke pacing, and the undercurrent of environmental concern is rich rather than blunt. So when they reach the last track, "Spectacular Views", they've earned a giddily big, vibrant California pop anthem, on which they completely let go and allow Lewis to take in the coast and the stars, screaming, "It's so fucking beautiful!" Who's gonna argue?