I've discovered that if you Google my name and click on "omitted search results," you'll be given seven or eight pages of links to archived They Might Be Giants email discussion lists that I contributed to during my middle and high school years. Typed excitedly at lunchtime on state-of-the-art UNIX terminals, these eternal reminders of some painfully awkward times feature discussions on the latest Giants' releases and arguments as to the meaning of lyrics like "put your hand inside the puppet head." TMBG were the first band I ever became obsessed with, acquiring any and all singles, bootlegs, and videos I could find. To an eighth grader in the age of grunge, they were the only known alternative to "alternative," and offered a musical safe-haven for anyone who might have thought that wearing a "Normal People Scare Me" t-shirt was a good idea.

Because of my history revering the band, it's hard to face the fact that TMBG's output is gradually becoming less consistent and inspired. Their newest release, The Spine, is, like so many of their other recent releases, not a bad album, yet contains too many mediocre tracks to be comforting. The most disappointing aspect of The Spine is its musical conservatism. John Linnell's prowess at arrangement and instrumentation, on full display in his excellent solo album State Songs, seems to become increasingly buried by walls of heavily produced guitars upon each release. This wouldn't be so bad if the duo were still writing hooks that left you singing for three days upon a single listen, but there are only a few truly memorable melodies here.

Much as the eighth grade girls would usually squint at me and say "you're so random" after I'd attempted a joke, TMBG have long suffered the upsetting label of "quirky." Like fellow lyrical innovators the Talking Heads, they've tended toward the topics of household appliances and sinister characters rather than life's emotional highs and lows. Because their lyrics have reveled in puns and surrealist wordplay, they've usually been dubbed "silly" rather than "arty," though neither term really encapsulates the evil robots and grinning skulls at the core of the Giants' imagery. Thus, while TMBG have been no stranger to Dr. Demento over the years, a dark tone or manic absurdity has always kept their humor slightly shy of straight-ahead novelty territory.

Increasingly, such complexity is lost in TMBG's output, and on The Spine, the attempts at humor are spotty. "Au Contraire" fully succeeds at humor, featuring Jodie Foster and Mahatma Gandhi playing a contentious game of cards; similarly, "Wearing a Raincoat" contains the streams of nonsensical associative thought at the center of the band's earliest work. Then again, the songs "Prevenge" and "Some Crazy Bastard Wants to Hit Me" are no wittier than the basic premises of their titles.

It is readily apparent that The Spine was produced by Pat Dillett, who helped TMBG craft 1990's hit-heavy Flood. Both Flood and The Spine have a smooth, session-musician production quality that tempers the Giants' more experimental musical tendencies. Yet, where Flood made a successful approach at greater accessibility, The Spine's radio-friendly sound goes way overboard. The rampant vocal manipulation and techno-inspired turns are ridiculous against the Johns' matter-of-fact singing tones, resulting in tracks that sound more like Flansburgh and Linnell at a Karaoke night than on an album of their own songs.

There are successful tracks here, though they're usually reminiscent of past hits. The anthemic opener "Experimental Film" nearly replicates the lyrical conceit of Severe Tire Damage single "Dr. Worm", both sung by excitable but inarticulate narrators with minor artistic ambitions. John Flansburgh has spoken of his love for Sinatra, the influence being particularly evident on "Kiss Me, Son of God", and here, he croons on the excellent track "Trapped in a World Before Later On". "Stalk of Wheat" also manages a distinctly 1930s tone in its big-band style call-and-response. And TMBG do up the intensity on the energetic and catchy "Damn Good Times", a poppy piece with a klezmer-style ending.

Over the last five years, TMBG have involved themselves in an array of exciting projects. Like Danny Elfman and Mark Mothersbaugh, they're headed down the route of heady rock musicians turned soundtrack composers. Currently, they're working with Dave Eggers and director Spike Jonze to release a Moveon.org benefit album featuring Elliott Smith, R.E.M. and David Byrne. By all accounts, they're still putting everything they have into their live shows. With all this going on, it seems like their real creative energy is being turned elsewhere, as The Spine doesn't give me the sense that the Giants particularly wanted to make it or had much fun in the process. Still, as long this band's output continues to offer middle schoolers out there some kind of alternative to Hoobastank, I really can't complain.