Pitchfork

Perhaps inevitably, an ability to easily find free music combined with user-friendly web technology has resulted in an increased ability to praise every fucking mp3 under the sun. Keeping up with every song and artist praised somewhere by someone feels less like a labor of love and more like a crushing obligation. So imagine seeing Bell X1 getting the web in a titter with their stateside debut (and third album overall) on the strength of the following nugget of trivia: Damien Rice used to be in this band.

Whatever caused Rice to jump, it probably wasn't the band's (formerly known as Juniper) lack of commercial prospects. These guys aren't performing Rice's decaf froth, but plenty of other satellite radio stations could play Flock, which aims to be a sort of good ol' gloopy, romantic, somewhat psychedelic record á la the Verve's Urban Hymns or Coldplay's X&Y. Unfortunately, like so many other middling bands from this decade, they see themselves as not just ubermenschen of empathy, but also disco infiltrators.

"Reacharound" manages to bring to mind John Wooden and R. Lee Ermey; the former because "don't confuse activity with achievement" applies to the aimless guitars, the latter for obvious reasons when lead singer/studio drummer Paul Noonan belts "always good for a reacharound!" in a horribly indecisive almost-falsetto. As for would-be banger "Flame", it aims to capture that record-review chestnut "angular" but that would imply this shit is supposed to have angles, something to prod bodies into movement or draw blood. Instead, "Flame" is like getting pelted with a mouse pad before closing with an embarrassingly unearned round of applause.

At least those tracks are somewhat energetic; otherwise, Bell X1 uses a breakout as an excuse for "Bad Skin Day", six minutes of bedsitting (literally) self-pity over glassy cymbal washes and acoustic glaze. Closer "Lamposts" is like this as well, only two mintues longer. What ultimately undermines the group's attempts at resonance are vocalist Paul Noonan's stabs at bon mots-- see: "Maybe it's a seasonal affective disorder" or "Maybe we're just sad or makin' V's like Nixon." Since I had a college roommate who loved the Barenaked Ladies, I'm at least prepared. Check the bulletproof fly shit from single "Rocky Took a Lover" (aka "Travis Made a B-Side"): "[He said] You're such an asshole when you're drunk/ He said 'At least I'm OK in the mornings'/ She said 'I don't believe in any old Jesus/ If there was a God, then why is my arse the perfect height of kicking?'" Astoundingly, that's not the track on Flock that's titled "He Said She Said".

At the very least, Flock allows me to clarify why I found A Weekend in the City to be woefully underrated-- the Bloc Party record managed to prove that "strident" and "sappy" weren't mutually exclusive, that you could pound your broken heart with a clenched fist. And they did it under the weight of overwhelming expectations. Bell X1 generically compartmentalize everything instead and end up with a record that doesn't even top the work of their former bandmate.