Pitchfork

You know Jake. Every high school class had at least one, usually several. He was the kid who was always on time to class, always got straight A's, read Shakespeare for fun, and calculated the gravitational fields of black holes in his spare time. But no one really picked on him because he pretty much kept to himself. Occasionally, people snickered when he had to give a presentation in front of the class, donning his trademark oversized glasses and skintight polo shirt. But, for the most part, Jake was harmless, a bother to no one, just an amusing nerd at best. Then one day during senior spring, our mild-mannered Jake does something completely incomprehensible. He strolls into the lunchroom wearing a pair of Tevas, his backpack, and nothing else.

We all knew Jake was a little weird, but up until now he'd just been a loner kind of weird. Anyway, he walks over to the sandwich cart, as if everything is perfectly normal. What is he doing? Is he really waiting in line for a sandwich with his member dangling in front of the deli meats? He sits down at a table alone with his sandwich in hand and begins eating. Perfectly normal, save for his bare ass on the wooden seat. Finally, the Dean of Students comes over and has a little conference with Jake and promptly escorts him from the dining hall. Jake gets put on probation for the remainder of the year but graduates along with everyone else, and even gets a few math awards to boot. But, to this day, no one knows why he did it. Was it for pure shock value? Was he living out a personal porn-star fantasy? Some things are better left alone.

Listening to Idlewild's sophomore effort, 100 Broken Windows, for the first time is the shocking musical equivalent of watching Jake saunter into the lunchroom on that fateful afternoon. Like Jake's naked form in the context of a large dining area, the sound on this record came as a completely unexpected surprise. (Okay, a surprise minus the queasiness.) When we bought the album, we figured we had a sure-fire predictable band on our hands-- same faded cover art, same agitated song titles. But then, just when we were ready to give up on them, we pressed the play button and bang! Jake walks into the dining hall buck-naked.

No more screeching. No more punk-guitar chaos. No more uncomfortable strain. The chord progressions are crisp and the hooks immediate. An added bonus, Roddy Woomble, the lead singer with a name so weird you had to remember it, sounds so much like the once-young and energetic Michael Stipe that we're sure a lawsuit has already been filed. In fact, we're going to go out on a limb here and say that this is the great album R.E.M. could have made after Green (if they hadn't veered off into "Shiny Happy People") with specks of Superchunk.

But we only gave this album an 8.3, so there must be something wrong with it. And indeed there is. After about a dozen or so listens, one thing becomes fairly apparent: these songs have a tendency to blend together. But, hey, that's the same criticism that's been leveled at Superchunk for years now and it hasn't hurt them any. Nor should it. Like that renowned Carolina-grown indie band, Idlewild thrives within the three-to-four minute song structures. Simply put, they know to convert a searing hook into a rocking, accessible song. And if the result of this talent is that the song structures are fairly uniform, they still come out winners.

The band's newfound maturity goes beyond the songwriting, though. Even the lyrics belie Idlewild's youthful exuberance. Favoring a more oblique lyrical approach this time out, Woomble is able to tap a much broader emotional palate. Where Hope is Important collapsed under the weight of its own self-importance and heavy-handedness, 100 Broken Windows succeeds with subtlety. We're not sure what he means when Woomble says, "It's a better way to feel/ Don't be real, be post-modern" on "These Wooden Ideas," but regardless of its intent, when he utters the lines, they're strangely affecting. Part of the difference certainly lies in his soothing, empathic delivery, but the strength and genuineness of the words themselves can't be overlooked, either.

So, assuming you enjoy quality punky power-pop, here's the plan:

1. (Optional) Wait for 100 Broken Windows to be imported. You can skip directly to Step 3 if you have no intention of doing so.
2. Roll over or have yourself turned over periodically to prevent bedsores.
3. Get off your ass.
4. Put your pants on.
5. Get in the car, or catch the bus, and go to the fucking Virgin Megastore. You don't have a Virgin Megastore? Get on the Internet. Don't have the Internet? Then how are you reading this?
6. Go to the Rock section. Flip past Hurricane #1. If you get to Iron Maiden, you went too far. Go back.
7. Grab 100 Broken Windows.
8. Paying is optional, although recommended for legal reasons.
9. Go home.
10. Put it in the stereo.
11. Wait for the rock-n-roll goblin to touch you in your special parts.