Pitchfork

When we first met singer/guitarist Ivan Howard and keyboardist/vocalist Kelly Crisp, they were blowing peppy power-pop smooches to each other on Make Out, gagging the cynical and wooing the goo-goo-eyed with Pixie Stix hooks and lyrics like "First time I kissed you, I almost died." Their outlook wasn't completely, err, rosy-- there were songs about sad drunks and a few hints of heartbreak-- but it was clear that this was a married couple utterly enthralled with their Big, Big Love.

There's nothing wrong with Big, Big Love, or Pixie Stix hooks, but the Rosebuds weren't particularly good at either. Thankfully, their second full-length, Birds Make Good Neighbors, is a dark, disconcerting record that derives its power from restraint. It's Southern gothic through the filter of Ernest Hemingway, with the frightening stuff left off the page but seeping between the lines. There's a lot of love in these songs, but it's love in the face of a common enemy.

"And we'll get by/ And we tell ourselves one more time/ We get by/ And we brace ourselves and hold our hands and fight," Howard sings on the opening song, "Hold Hands and Fight". But it isn't a triumphant vow or some kind of pep talk. The music is ominous, with piano, tambourine, and stand-up bass throbbing quietly, haltingly. Howard's voice wobbles, slipping between notes. When the chorus swoops in with a gang of muted oohs and whoas, it sounds like the Arcade Fire, if the Arcade Fire were very, very scared.

"Hold Hands and Fight" sets the template for most of the 10 tracks that follow. "Boxcar" imagines childhood fantasies of escape over an understated acoustic railroad chug. "We could make a broom of weeds and brush and sweep all the daddies away," Howard moans, teetering on the edge of a Morrissey croon. Crisp's la-la-las on the chorus are instantly catchy, but far from sweet. Howard and Crisp play lovers separated by oceans and time in "Leaves Do Fall", eventually resolving to die rather than wait to be reunited. Teenagers hold each other close in the sanctuary of the garage in "Wildcat", as a family fight rages on inside the house. "Blue Bird" longs for the country from inside the city; "Outnumbered" awaits certain doom over surf-guitar jangle.

These songs are infused with a hint of twangy menace, bubbling under but never exploding. The Rosebuds avoid the easy, melodramatic path, instead opting for subdued delivery and an atmosphere of uncomfortable tension. But it's uncomfortable in a good way. When they fall back on the lovey-dovey stuff on the call-and-response group sing-along "Shake Our Tree" and the sappy pledge of devotion "Warm Where You Lay", the album falters. Who put this chick flick in my psychological thriller?

Perhaps Birds' shadowy sound signals the end of the honeymoon period of the Crisp/Howard marriage, and the beginning of facing the problems of a long-term relationship. But if they sound this good now, man, I can't wait until they get divorced.