Two newly anointed major-label acts bid to bring Big Guitar Rock back to the people (who, truth be told, really need it). In the giddily accelerating rollercoaster that is popular culture, both records somehow seem nostalgic, even though the styles they draw from would have sounded contemporary as recently as, oh, 1998 or so. With its tension-coiled verses, aggressive four-chord choruses, and mix of cynicism and surliness, Idlewild's calculation is transparent - or at least it would be if it were 1995 and "Bush" were a popular band instead of a popularly unelected occupant of the White House. Now, despite the major-label backing and production, it sounds more like a heroic, last-ditch effort. And the dire state of chart music these days is such that Bush, in retrospect, would be a massive improvement...shudder. Idlewild, though, is smarter, cleverer, and all-round better than that coat-tail crew, not least in that no one can accuse them now of chasing fashion. Idlewild's choruses leave marks, like knuckle-ringed boxing gloves, and their murmuring, broodily interwoven vocal parts insinuate like creeper vines. Singer Roddy Woomble (no, not one of the Rutles) has one of those worn, grainy voices, reminiscent of Kurt Cobain and the Psychedelic Furs' Richard Butler, that must surely come from a mouth perpetually sporting a cigarette, with a bottle of whiskey close to hand. Add inscrutable, clever lyrics and a painterly array of guitar textures and keyboard accents, and I can't help but feeling that, yes, this is surely a product, but it's also a very good record. Highlights include the leadoff track "Little Discourage" (not "Dutch courage," which is what you think you're hearing) and "Roseability," whose minor-key melody lurks in the darker harmonic corners on 9th and 11th and whose lyrics reference Gertrude Stein (another song uses the word "postmodern," so someone in the band evidently is well-known to librarians). Oh yeah: sawing away at the end of "Idea Track" are the dying croaks of a tortured cello...did you think I'd review a record with cello on it and not mention that fact? Creeper Lagoon finally reappears after a longish delay, with an EP coming out earlier in the year as a stopgap measure. Their last full-length, 1998's I Become Small and Go, was a wonderful record of the time, when mixing a bit of hip-hop production smarts with indie-rock songwriting seemed new (The Dust Brothers produced a handful of tracks). Their songwriting on that album was sharp, and so it's a bit of a disappointment that too many songs on Take Back the Universe struggle to remain recognized. Creeper Lagoon also opts for lots of big guitars on this record - at least that's the initial impression the first few tracks create - and at first their top-shelf production can be impressive. Take, for example, the ending of the opening track "Chance of a Lifetime": from the compressed-for-maximum-impact sound and fury of lots of loud guitars, including some Brian May-like lead harmonies, the sound drops off to a single sustaining keyboard. It's quite dramatic in a Bruckheimer-esque way - but that sonic jiggery-pokery serves also to mask the fact that that drop-off might have been even more effective with more natural acoustics. Sure, that compression makes everything sound louder (and perceptually makes quieter parts seem to contrast more), but its artifice becomes wearying. And once you get used to its effects on dynamic contrast, those contrasts actually lose impact - since they're not as contrasting as they naturally would be. One of the chief virtues of I Become Small and Go was its variety of sound, and so the band loses something in the decision to smooth over some of the quirkier edges of their arrangements. Many of the album's later tracks do allow a bit more space in their sound (one of the problems with big guitars, incidentally - they take up so much of the sonic spectrum that other instruments are crowded out), but those first few tracks serve to characterize the album as a whole. But more fatal, I think, is their gift for melody seems to have partially deserted them. Too many tracks lack that indefinable melodic something we call catchiness, and so the album is less one good song after another than a handful of good songs surrounded by tracks that create little impression. "Sunfair" has the first chorus that really sticks (and it doesn't arrive until track three), and not coincidentally, it also has more variety in arrangement, with synths, a couple of percussion tracks, and some backwards guitar. "Hey Sister" is also a highlight, with its quicksilver, Lotion-like rhythmic tricks. And the ringer here is "Lover's Leap," which sounds almost as if it were flown in from a different album entirely. Partially that's because of the vocal, which features either a different singer (my copy lacks notes, but I think Ian Sefchick sings most tracks and Sharky Laguana generally sings backup: this would be Laguana, then) or a radically different vocal approach, lower in pitch, darker, and richer. Combined with the floaty guitars, mellotrons, and synthesizers that decorate the track, it sounds like the Righteous Brothers from a hitherto-unreleased psychedelic period. If Idlewild's album succeeds better in its expensive tailoring, it's not necessarily because they're a better band: it's that the gestures they're making look better in that suit. Creeper Lagoon, on the other hand, works better on a slightly more intimate scale - and the big-gesture arrangements are almost off-putting, like someone wearing a tie at a Saturday picnic.

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