Pitchfork

While I'd never lay some Hornsbyesque "give us a snappy tune and be done with it, lads" line on a band, the Rakes seem suddenly bereft of the punkish energy and instantly gratifying hooks that marked their early singles and debut album, Capture/Release. If you liked the quick fix of that record, or were intrigued by the "All Too Human" single (tacked onto that album's U.S. release), Ten New Messages is not the same kind of rush. The band saying this is "not a concept album, but written around a theme" should ring five-alarm bells for anyone who've followed their favorite musicians till they go right off the deep end of pretension. Funny thing is, the theme is probably the most interesting and well-executed part of Ten New Messages; it's the music that falls short.

Take "Suspicious Eyes", a song taking place on a tube ride that shifts between riders' paranoid perspectives to the point that they hand off the vocals to a tone-deaf "mother" and a rapping Muslim. It's the same party-weary character tired out on Capture/Release, rubbing his eyes from a mid-week morning hangover, but now looking up and paying attention to the world around him (even if it's ultimately out of self-interest via self-preservation). As a concept, it's promising; as a song, it's tedious and awkward, lacking any strong melody or smooth transition between vocalists.

The band that old fans know isn't completely absent: "The World Was a Mess But His Hair Was Perfect" is a promising start, the same band as before with added pop detectability and more than a little cheek, a bubbling near-dance track with as many Doppler-effect keyboards as spidery guitar lines, all heeding that unrelenting single-note bass and the calm and assured disdain of singer Alan Donohoe. But save for isolated moments like "Trouble" or "Time to Stop Talking" later on, that cocksure swagger is nowhere to be found on Ten New Messages. "Little Supersitions" is a limp breakup lament, and the mannered "We Danced Together" may earn them all those unfounded comparisons to early labelmates Bloc Party with its precise syncopation and the liberal uses of "oohs" and "ahhs." The lyric occasionally shows an eye for detail (goosebumps on a paramour's arm provide an excuse to find warmer, more secluded corners), but the Rakes seem ill-prepared to write a chorus spirited enough to match this cleaner, more accessible sound.

"When Tom Cruise Cries" follows this new blueprint and serves as a sort of centerpiece to the record, a seemingly never-ending throb where the protagonist awakes to CNN announcing "electrical problems" and proceeds to either panic or complain, depending on your perspective, about an unreachable significant other. On the way, it touches upon manipulative and fear-mongering media coverage and the unreality of celebrity's tears over a clipped counter-melodies and the sounds of cell phone interference. It takes the end of the album, with "Leave the City and Come Home", to make sounding defeated actually work, the guitars strumming insistently at half speed, but each breath of the vocals fall perfectly in line. (More of the first album's humor and distinctive detail being present here helps).

Again, this is interesting on paper. Is something truly dangerous afoot, or is it just more of what "that French guy said," salacious and irresponsible media? Is his girl in trouble, or is he just getting the cold shoulder? Is our hero justified in running back home to the country in our culture of constant low-level paranoia, or is he just lacking the proper stones for city life? All the questions are there and presented clearly and without preaching, but nearly always over plodding chords that go nowhere. With keen observations and piles of swagger tucked away somewhere for the time being, the Rakes could still be the soundtrack to plenty of lives-- or at the very least, daily commutes-- if only they could find the strength to muster a smirk.