Pitchfork

It's funny to hear people ranting about how the Strokes ripped off Lou Reed's vocal affectations, how they bite the Velvet Underground's style, and how horribly inauthentic the whole thing is. Maybe it's because the Strokes only seem to have one influence. (Don't bother the pomo collage known as "influences" on the friendly AMG cheat-sheet, by the way.) But anyone with a cool uncle, or anything beyond a radioland interest in music, has listened to the Velvets. Many, many people have attempted to imitate them before, and many more will do it in the future. It's a moot point.

The Still don't sound like the Velvet Underground. Well, kind of. They have the garage-chic veneer, the occasional Cale-like passages of pure sound, and the melancholy sneers of a conflicted songwriter. It's a comparison that gets tossed around from time to time, and one that should come as no surprise to bandmembers Alex Hacker, Doug Bailey and Greg Pavlovcak, even if it's not 100% accurate.

But let's do a little background work: after Hacker's departure from the Ropers in 1996, the once-Slumberland darlings released an album with drummer Mike Donovan, and then promptly disbanded. The Still is basically a reformation of the Ropers, and it follows the letter of the day-- it's more mature and colored, and its songwriting is less willfully "pop" than before. They've even signed to a new label: Trevor Holland's pulCec.

Nectar is the first result of the Ropers' maturation, and it takes every opportunity to genuflect to the band's various influences, which draw primarily from wistful shoegazer and shameless mid-90s Britpop. The opener, "Sunshine," is a reluctant "Seagull," only Doug Bailey's vocals crackle above a shoddy mix of Echo and the Bunnymen strings and descending basslines. His voice is singularly unfit for the largeness of the mix-- though Amy Domingues theoretically doubles the lower frequency output on cello, Bailey always comes off weak and without inflection.

Further play only proves this point as a dominant issue, as borderline badass guitar lines like the one on "Wavelength" are castrated by Bailey's shy-guy-turned-rock-star act. This kind of posturing might be fine for the scratch vocals and okay for rehearsals, but it's unforgivable in the studio and an act of treason live. Let's hope Bailey takes a few shots of his namesake before going under the lights. That might be a good show.

What's sad is that most of these songs are great, but overshadowed by blatant flaws. The exception is "Ready Now," a track which simply begs to give the Strokes a run. The extra ten seconds spent on production and songwriting really here show through, uplifting the already delicious pop goodness. The Spacemen 3-ish melody and sentiments of "Turned Around," however, aren't so lucky. While potentially expansive, they unfortunately surrender to mediocrity with rushed phrasing, keys pushed too far back, and endless distortion which strip the song of its poignancy. All this, of course, points to Trevor Holland, whose lo-fi aesthetics work for bands whose main strengths are unity and the desire to do things a bit dirty. The Still, though, don't need to fit the mold of modern primitivism, as their VU view came through an English mirror-- a lovely, pastoral mega-multitrack recording would serve them where their current make-up doesn't.

The problem is the Still are too caught up in idol-worship with their eyes on the highest indie pop prize: Strokes-ification. Their songwriting, instrumental bravado, and dreams far outmatch their production and singer. The future will hold one or more of the following: a) Bailey will get the balls to finally front the band; b) the Still will hire a new singer; or c) the band will take a ripened, less reactionary stance and enjoy a renewed opportunity for Bailey to set the vocals right. Or, of course, they may just go down as another unrecognized band who kinda sounds like the Velvet Underground. If that turns out to be the case... next, please.