Since crossing the Atlantic to U.S. shores, IV Thieves seem to have grown increasingly fond of American democracy. Prior to that, in their hometown of Nottingham, England, the band was more feudal: the British release of their debut, The Greatest White Liar, was released under singer Nic Armstrong's name. By the time the disc had made it to America on New West Records in 2005, they were launched as Nic Armstrong & the Thieves. But then they came to Austin, Texas and stayed, ultimately taking to awkward American politics for If We Can't Escape My Pretty, their second release as a band but their first as IV Thieves.
As expected, the democratic approach at least sounds better: Liar was largely predicated on blues-based British rock, with Armstrong's ostensible Kinks, Beatles, and Gallaghers upbringing tempered by a fetishism for sweaty licks and stateside tradition. But here, with songwriting credit and vocals split between III of the IV Thieves, the group has turned in a rangy guitar-pop effort, with attitude taking a backseat to Chris "Frenchie" Smith's production and polished hooks.
Multiple guitars ricochet through "Higher", its swaggering verses and glowing electric textures definitely maybe nodding to the colossal moments of Be Here Now. "Take This Heart" pulses through its verses before it screams into a stinging chorus. Trading lines, Armstrong and guitarist Glynn Wedgewood put a new coat of lacquer on the Thieves' white-hot stripes. Indeed, the three songwriters-- Armstrong, Wedgewood, and bassist Shane Lawlor-- share a blue-collar dejection that's unanimous enough to make for simple self-government. Slight twists on typical labor-of-love-and-life plights unite the dozen tracks: Armstrong lays it out on "Mother's Love", moping through the lyric "There's nobody out there/ Nobody cares," outlining an exhaustive mantra for at least two continents of sad sacks.
But it's that least-common denominator, next-generation blues-based rock that points both to *My Pretty'*s potentials and failures. Neither a socialist whole nor an anarchist edge survives here, and that lack of conflict takes the edge off. The ends don't meet; propulsive, straight-ahead electric guitar rock and hyperactive acoustic-based psychedelia remain separated, and the band's entirely orthodox chops-- augmented by Smith's stabilizing production-- keep things near the middle of the road.
Aside from the aforementioned referents, primitive psychedelic rock influences-- 13th Floor Elevators, The Nazz, Amboy Dukes-- are set aside in favor of direct melodic rock impact. The dynamics have been compressed out of most of these tracks, and every guitar solo makes a point not to push too hard. Album closer "Chase Me Off/Out", unfurling from its tight acoustic quarters into a frenzied feedback coda, suggests the band is capable of more. But, like any polyarchy, several good ideas (most of the melodies and all of Lawlor's basslines) are tempered by plenty of bad ones (the "ooh ay-ohs" on "All the Time" and the *Revolver * brandishing on "Day is a Downer").
But that's just how playing fair with ideas goes: It's democratic to hear them out, even if that means you end up believing that "You can't love what you don't understand" or eternally doubting dudes who would sing, "Take this heart, make it beat/ I don't remember how to feel" with straight rock faces. Hey, it's a free country.
