With 2004's rote new wave carbon copy Red Bedroom, New York post-punkers turned wtf-rockers the Fever attempted to rub elbows with local dance-punk provosts the Rapture and Liars and were met mainly with cold shoulders. Fast-forward just two years and, at least on the surface, the Fever has a new bag.
In the City of Sleep abjures its predecessor's straightlaced dance-rock angling in favor of an ambitious hodgepodge of chintzy musical styles that can only be described as 21st century indie vaudeville. But while Tom Waits, Cheap Trick, and Captain Beefheart now factor more prominently than Talking Heads or Gang of Four, the band still drips with the same stiff-upper-lipped austerity. Produced by Steve Revitte (Liars, Black Dice), this nearly hour-long mock-epic of rumbling synths and dinosaur arena rock should be much more fun than it actually is. Instead, the LP suffers from a lackadaisical track selection and tiresome layers of sonic effects.
At its best, the band nails down massive AOR anthems that'd kill at Budokan. Back-to-back highlights "The Secret" and "Crying Wolf" initially rear an ugly head, all plodding reverberated riffs and brooding vocals, before launching into sing-along choruses of 1960s teeny bop that only want you to want them, Rick Nielsen style. Unfortunately, frontman Geremy Jasper too often succumbs to his stormy petrel shtick, and it spills over into tracks otherwise calling for a lighter, less ham-handed delivery. On shuffling dirges like "Do the Tramp" and "Pink Smoke", Jasper concerns himself more with sounding cool while whining and growling than actually emitting any plausible pathos.
When Jasper's not hogging the limelight, the band reverts to a breakneck pace unaccommodating for vocals. While amphetamine-juiced rocker "Redhead" leaves space for a melody, many tracks suffer from gratuitous layers of synth and studio glitz that render songs cartoonish (quite literally on "Eyes on the Road", whose beginning is uncannily similar to the X-Men animated show theme). Yes, In the City of Sleep shows a marked improvement over Red Bedroom's equally fallible, self-conscious post-punk meandering. Still, the Fever has over-compensated, and such lofty attempts should be kept on ice until the band's chops are up to par.
