Pitchfork

I'm not sure when and if the Electric Six will recover from debut album Fire's resulting hangover, but Switzerland suggests the sun's setting on the band's party-hardy days. Even frontman Dick Valentine has acknowledged this, noting how the "dance" trope has been dropped from all lyrics on the new album. That said, no one's checking into Betty Ford just yet; in fact, Switzerland's crammed with more sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs (or at least cocoa papacies) than ever before. Problem is, who cares what Valentine's croaking about if the arena rock's as flaccid as on Señor Smoke?

Fans of Fire like to argue that E6's tragic flaw on recent releases has been a loss of edge, an abandonment of visceral surf/punk/disco/metal for a tamer, more AOR-centric sound. The easy solution? Turn the amps to 11 and kick more ass. The harsh reality? The more=better strategy can flop in practice, no matter how enticing hyperbolizing your art appears-- it's why so many "Family Guy" jokes tank or why no one listens to Michael Moore.

To give credit where it's due, single "I Buy the Drugs" and "Infected Girls", two of Switzerland's brighter spots, hustle substance abuse and unsafe sex without being famished for attention. While the latter twitches over subtle electro-rock, "Drugs" rallies around a proud titular chorus, the hearty power chords almost waxing sentimental. Hell, "Drugs" and "Germans In Mexico" would even pass as Hold Steady B-sides if Valentine could shut his yap. Unfortunately, the frontman's crazed growl dashes any nuanced developments the band has reached in their songwriting, maintaining a grating tone consistently throughout, save maybe for the unexpected falsetto on "Pulling the Plug on the Party".

Scapegoating Valentine may seem too easy, but considering this album's concurrent release with similar artist Andrew W.K.'s newest and most novel offering, the guy's really lagging behind the pomp-rock curve. While heeding to a stricter glam doctrine, Switzerland mostly reveals the band's arrested development, even to the point of rendering their absurdist, irreverent humor irrelevant. After all, trying to delineate the band's level of irony would be like taking the stairs in an Escher painting--it's an unnecessary mindfuck. The basic dilemma remains that, stripped of their shtick and "Danger! High Voltage" laurels to be taken at face value, the band seems content dicking around with sound effects and varied genres rather than eliciting any sort of innate rawk reaction, and the sex, drugs, etc. bit stinks of telling, not showing.