Pitchfork

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah were supposed to totally change the game for up-and-coming bands looking to avoid being extra deck chairs on the majors' sinking ships, but after Some Loud Thunder met its inevitable and somewhat warranted backlash, it just became that much harder to invest in a group like Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin (and Walk It Off ain't helpin' either). Yeltsin's story is familiar-- armed with a memorably silly name and all the right blogger friends, the Springfield, Mo., foursome stepped up to Polyvinyl in 2006, and their sources are so collegiate you can practically hear an awkward DJ announcing the title between pockets of dead air after every song.

But is that enough to cut it when you're trying desperately to come around on that Fuck Buttons album? Pershing, their second full-length, maroons SSLYBY on a middle ground that's eroding as listeners try to have it both ways, indulging in more outré subgenres and getting their pop fix from more "direct" sources, as if hooks from Rihanna are intrinsically more valuable than those of, say, the Shins.Which is to say that indie elitism never dies, it just mutates, and an album like Pershing is more likely to slip through the cracks due to its general sense of inoffensiveness. Thing is, it finds SSLYBY a far more accomplished and confident band, something to be expected from two years of having to prove themselves outside of their homebase.

If the hooks of "Glue Girls" were spread over the course of Pershing, we'd be talking about a pretty solid record, but as the opener, it sets off a chain reaction of indie pop that's clean-cut without being fussy, instantly accessible without being too lightweight. At times, SSLYBY trip up when they get a little too clever for their own good. The overly affected eccentricities of "Oceanographer" tests the limits of how many words should be consecutively rhymed with the title (the answer: one, tops) before wandering off to a non-jam jam session of gormless riffing. Meanwhile, the Archies-like fluff of "Dead Right" is too content in getting on some Cam'ron shit and flipping the title over and over again until it's nearly meaningless.

Truth is, the band's in a bit of a Catch-22-- Pershing is so easy-going it tends to forget trying to be memorable. In fact, in the time it takes to listen to its first song, you could've checked out Boris Yeltsin's Wiki page instead (did you know his approval rating was rumored to be 2% at his resignation?!?) and been as entertained. "Boring Fountain" and "Modern Mystery" pleasurably go in through one ear and out the other with polite harmonies, spiffy guitar sheen, and the occasional horn. And that's the problem: Rarely does anything stick other than a spare melodic line. The fact that they're able to cobble a few together over the span of three minutes gives off a complexity that feels more illusory than anything.