Though Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin never quite achieved the hype or experienced the craters of their peers in the 2006 blog-rock takeover that never was, there's still something of a lingering pall over anyone involved with that whole thing that almost makes them guilty by association. It makes sense that, despite a band name that begged for attention, they kept their heads low: Their straightforward brand of retro (ca. 1995 or 1979) power-pop may never be trendy, but it never goes out of style, and when done with passion and monster hooks, it can still make inroads even with more outré styles becoming mainstream (see: Surfer Blood).
On first listen to their new album, Let It Sway, SSLYBY sound like they're done fucking around in the minor leagues, newly invigorated after the 2008's innocuous Pershing. "Back in the Saddle" backs up the mission-statement intent of its title, a sturdy foundation of anthemic guitars both folky and power chord-driven, support a carousel of alternate-reality radio melodies. The song actually demands to be heard, as does the the effortless "Sink/Let It Sway" and the infectious, huge "na na na" chorus on "Banned (By the Man)".
That opening trio is enough to make Let It Sway worth your time, but it actually manages to create an internal letdown once the momentum inevitably gets stunted. Let It Sway's pleasant but lightweight midsection of pro forma power-pop could pass for enjoyably minor Fountains of Wayne songs for better (we're talking about the early stuff) or worse (the lack of lyrical specificity makes them somewhat anonymous). It's tough to say whether it's due to the handiwork of producer Chris Walla, who lends everything a crisp sound and a tasteful smattering of studio trickery. But as is the case with recent Death Cab albums, it's too hermetic and prim to truly rock out, leaving the relatively aggressive "All Hail Dracula!" to sound all too similar to the acoustic ballad ("Stuart Gets Lost Dans Le Metro") and the flanged head-bopper ("Animalkind").
And on "Critical Drain", the restraint clearly shows its deleterious effects. The glass ceiling of Walla's production doesn't allow the double-time cowpunk arrangement to do a proper amount of shitkicking, but what's even more strange are the lyrics. I'm not against this thing because it's a broadside against music critics who ask them stupid questions about their name and so forth (um...). The problem is that it's too damn polite about it. "I don't mean to be an asshole," sings Cardwell, but in this context, maybe he'd be better off being a little less charitable-- "we're just circling around the critical drain." SSLYBY have every right to feel like they have a chip on their shoulder, and if they can somehow manage to inject some grit next time out, they could be looking at a success that's an even greater revenge than "Critical Drain".
