From their Echo and the Bunnymen-inspired moniker to their Automatic-for-the-people appropriation, Crocodiles are so studious in retracing the moves of their stoned 'n' dethroned 80s post-punk forbears that their most intriguing moments come when they aimlessly start drawing outside the lines. Note how "Hung Up on a Flower", the otherwise dirgey balladic centerpiece of last year's Endless Flowers, degenerates into two minutes of a woman nattering on in German, her voice echoing out in mutated shapes atop a bed of grimy guitar fuzz. The dying moments of "I Like It in the Dark" -- the opening track from Crocodiles' fourth LP, Crimes of Passion -- yield something equally nonsensical yet startling: The song's joyous gospel-delic groove fades out, but singer Brandon Welchez isn't quite finished talking yet, as he lets loose with an extended, a capella stream of beat-poet babble that was seemingly being drowned out all along by the boisterous song preceding it, like a dubbed-over cassette that didn't fully erase its previous contents.
No other moment on Crimes of Passion approaches the same degree of wanton absurdity. But where that random Deutsch-laden rant on "Hung Up on a Flower" stood into stark contrast to Endless Flowers' student-disco formalism, Crimes of Passion's off-kilter intro serves as a harbinger of the album's guileless, unguarded spirit, as producer Sune Rose Wagner successfully coaxes the band to drop their Ray Bans and reveal the puppy-dog eyes welling up underneath. Sonically, Crocodiles are still very much the sort of band scientifically engineered to appease the small minority who believe the Jesus and Mary Chain's second-best album is Munki (not that there's anything wrong with that); Welchez lets his suggestive lyrics ooze out of his mouth like he was a third Reid brother, and whenever the band deviate from their trusty fuzz-pop playbook, it's in precisely the same ways U.K.-indie idols like Primal Scream and Spiritualized once did, whether deploying roadhouse horns, gospel-diva vocal wails, and steeple-shaking piano rolls as signifiers of Southern-soul authenticity or sci-fi synths to exude some Teutonic futurism. However, thanks to Rose Wagner's punchy production and emphasis on economy, Crimes of Passion-- unlike the band's previous records-- doesn't require the accompaniment of strobe lights and dry ice to fully connect. The new record basks in Endless Flowers' sunny afterglow*,* but the songs here are brasher, nervier, and a lot more fun.
Even at its most slavishly Mary Chained-- "Cockroach" practically comes outfitted with its own pompadoured Afro-- Crimes of Passion evinces a fidgety, tambourine-rattled exuberance that lends the record a brisk momentum, meaning a band that once routinely droned on past the five-minute mark can now get the job done in three. But the album is most distinguished by its starry-eyed ballads, like the Las-esque jangle-pop standout "She Splits Me Up" or the Jean Genet-copping moonlit lullaby "Un Chant D'amour". And while it may be a stretch to call the retro-gear fetishism of "Teardrop Guitar" a love song, its ecstatic verve makes for as solid a sequel to "She Bangs the Drum" as the reunited Stone Roses could come up in 2013 if they tried. Such open-hearted gestures may not be enough to fully redirect Crocodiles away from the nihilism-by-numbers of "Me and My Machine Gun" and "Gimme Some Annihilation", but they offer encouraging evidence that the band is becoming more adept at not just projecting the aloof attitude of their Brit-rock influences, but their flair for disarming, emotionally resonant songcraft. At this point in the game, we've grown accustomed to seeing Crocodiles flash their teeth; it's much more interesting to see them shed their skin.
