"Fuck off, ya faggot!"

I can't tell if my jock neighbor, Biff, is yelling at me for trying to stop his late- night decision to crank the new Third Eye Blind single, or at one of his bulky compadres. Regardless, I can't help but feel a bit fearful. A couple of nights I ago, as I headed out for good nose-picking at the library on a Friday night, I spied him dancing by himself to the tune of a new R. Kelly groove, beer sloshing to the rhythm of his sad, sad sway. As Kelly hit the high notes, he arched his thick neck, left hand clutching at his dark green "No Fear" sweater with the passion of it all. Perhaps feeling the presence of my prying glance, he turned around and let out the slightest squeak when he saw me crack a smile. Scared for my life, I did what any dignified man would do: I ran.

For all the exterior toughness of my neighbor, I think what I saw reveals a sad, sensitive, frail undercurrent that not even his stocky wrestling friends have seen. What Biff needs to understand is that one can and should be tough and tender at the same time. To help him understand, I'm going to take my copy of A Minor Forest's Inindependence next door just as soon as I'm done with this review. Through music, I hope to heal his polarized, fragmented mind.

A Minor Forest's previous outings were fairly standard exercises in post- Slint math-rock drudgery. While their records were at times interesting, their songs were hampered by the nagging feeling that there wasn't anything particularly special about them. This time around, the band has gained a firmer grasp of how to harness their sensitive and ferocious sides into tasty pieces. With Inindependence, A Minor Forest moves up to the growing armada of a-level math-rock practitioners like June of 44, Don Caballero, the Shipping News and the like.

The big improvement is in overall songwriting. Biff would do well to listen to a song like "...It's Salmon!!!" which begins as a lovely, sparse piece before erupting into a noisy climax. "Look at tha Car, It's Full of Balloons" gallops along like some determined, insane horse, its slashing rhythms propelled by terrific tough- guy energy. The album's closer, "Discoier," is a lovely, haunting song, accented by piano flourishes and light jazz- ballad drumming. There are some moments where the album lags, though. Clocking it at over 18 minutes, "The Smell of Hot" could have used some editing as the instrumental workout veers off into indulgent noodling. Still the rest of the album demonstrates that A Minor Forest are adept at negotiating between their menacing and maudlin sides. "Biff" could use the schooling.

-Samir Khan