On my local alt-rock station, Silversun Pickups' 2006 single "Lazy Eye" has rightfully become a playlist staple, and not just because the song fits comfortably alongside the repertoire of certain first-generation Lollapalooza veterans known for inflicting violence on large orange fruit. Though it lacks an actual chorus, "Lazy Eye" still packs a considerable emotional charge, thanks to the creeping tension between the song's cool precision and frontman Brian Aubert's efforts to destabilize it, through arrhythmic guitar scraping and an increasingly agitated vocal. Though the song's tone is subdued and serious, I always smirk during Aubert's climactic shriek of the line "everyone's so focused clearly on... such shine," as if he were single-handedly trying to destroy the fun-in-the-sun spirit that defines so much Californian pop music. Which is to say: "Lazy Eye" remains Silversun Pickups' biggest and best song because it's their most human, imperfect, irrational one.
But those endearing qualities have become increasingly difficult to glean from Silversun Pickups these days. The band's third album, Neck of the Woods, picks up where 2009's sophomore release, Swoon, left off, inheriting the task of blowing up Silversun Pickups' hazy-headed pop to more muscular, arena-ready proportions. Which is to be expected: This is, after all, a band whose two albums have sold over half a million copies to date combined, so there's a natural inclination to want to keep hitting the back rows even as they move ever further away. But there's an increasing disconnect between ambition and execution: While Neck of the Woods boasts all the hallmarks of a big-budget, radio-ready modern-rock record-- including a production credit for Jacknife Lee, a guy who knows a thing or two about polishing up once-scrappy indie-rock bands for KROQ contention-- Silversun Pickups have a way of making their most grandiose gestures sound passive and timid. The album's over-the-top but underwhelming nature is best summed up by a line from the aforementioned breakthrough single: "I've been waiting for this moment all my life/ But it's not quite right."
It doesn't help that Aubert's effete voice lacks the domineering, egomaniacal presence to convincingly command his band's bombast. Even those who have allergic reactions to Billy Corgan or Matt Bellamy's prog-rock histrionics would never doubt their sense of bravado, but Aubert has the tendency to pull back right when he should be going for broke. Just as the protracted intro of opener "Skin Graph" finally yields to a satisfyingly gnarly chorus at the three-minute mark, Aubert loses himself in a buzz-killing, ambient detour; when he returns for one final charge through the chorus, the feeling is less one of shock and surprise than "what the fuck took you so long?"
This kind of structural over-tinkering is endemic on Neck of the Woods, an album that Silversun Pickups claim was inspired by horror movies; if so, they're the kind of horror movies where you wait a long time for twists you can see coming a mile away, with the visceral impact all but diluted by a glossy CGI sheen. The album places a premium on foreboding synth atmospherics, dramatic pauses, extended build-ups and breakdowns, and 1998-vintage rock-tronic beats-- and, in doing so, stretches mid-tempo song after mid-tempo song to the five-minute mark and beyond, forsaking the sort of peaks-and-valleys sequencing necessary for maintaining dramatic momentum over the course of an hour-long sprawl. And the clinical, vacuum-sealed production renders even the most Rock Band-worthy moments (the machine-gunned fills on "Out of Breath", the Zeppelin-esque chorus riff of "Gun-Shy Sunshine", the robo-grunge thrust of "Mean Spirits") with a mechanized sterility that keeps the explosions contained.
Neck of the Woods does yield at least one bona-fide direct hit to ensure future Weenie Roast bookings: "Bloody Mary (Nerve Endings)", a gleaming, synth-swathed power ballad that's of a piece with the maximal digi-symphonies of M83's Hurry Up, We're Dreaming. But even as Silversun Pickups continue to dutily follow the Smashing Pumpkins' career trajectory by trading in shoegaze haze for Adore-inspired electro-pop, perhaps the most 90s thing about them is that, even in the age of downloading and streaming, they still make albums as if they need to take full advantage of a CD's storage capacity and give the Sam Goody customer their $22.98's worth. Appropriately enough, many of Aubert's lyrics here bristle with restlessness, fatigue and disappointment-- "I'm still waiting," "I'm already bored," "What am I aiming towards/ A fight that never ends," "Nothing's coming"-- all of which serve to make Neck of the Woods a concept album about the feeling you get listening to Neck of the Woods.
