In a foreword to one of his story collections or novels, Ray Bradbury said that all writers begin as style plagiarists of their own favorites. No exception himself, he confessed having spent years trying to write in the fashion of Dickens, then Melville, then Wolfe, then Burroughs before striking on his own unique voice. Only when the artist ceases being imitative and strikes upon his own style does he truly succeed.

Sunset Valley's first couple of albums were carpet-bombed with comparisons to that famous indie band that started with the letter "P" (not the one with the dancing guy-- that other one). Sure, most of it was deserved, but some of it was just plain laziness. I think we can all agree that there are worse bands to ape. But even so, when you get typecast early, you never develop. Exhibit A: the acting career of Miss Goldie Hawn. She failed to heed the wise words of Ray and ended up opposite Kurt Russell in Overboard.

Icepond, fortunately, is not the aural equivalent of Overboard, nor is it more of the same energetic but unoriginal imitation the crits have come to expect from these kids. Instead, it marks Sunset Valley's self-discovery as artists. For that alone, the album is noteworthy. And good for them, I say. The Portland trio has, after all, paid their dues. For god's sake, man, they've been at it since the mid-90's, languishing in relative, unhyped obscurity. By now, they deserve to be cruising along of the road to self-actualization. And this, their third album (and first for Barsuk), may just take them there.

The record opens with more psychedelic and new wave allusions than their last album, 1999's Boyscout Superhero, had on the entire disc. From the "Crimson and Clover"-y "Blackberry Bushes" to the early 80's bounce-pop of the opener "Say Ow," it's apparent early on that more variety is the order of the day here. The fake echo effect of lead singer Herman Jolly's voice in "Say Ow" is a nice, kitschy touch. And not long afterward, nuevo-glam gets warped, Devo-style in "Wired Nights," one of the disc's standouts. All in all, a nicely mixed, stew-like approach.

On the downside, much of the guts of Icepond can be frustrating to listen to. It's not that it's challenging music; it's pretty much all straight-up indie pop. What's hit or miss about it is that a lot of the songs are fickle. Upon first listen, a track like "Nico Ride" is perfectly tedious, but the next time you strap on the headphones, it's sublime. Same goes for the title track, a dull-tempoed and generic song that alternates between hypnotic and enraging. Each of these tracks is a rollercoaster, shifting in quality depending on the circumstances and mindset of the listener. I realize that most music is like that, but Icepond proves a drastic example.

Still, the record finishes magnificently. "Janey O" feels like a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band throwback, but with soft rhythm mandolin, trashcan cymbals and 1-2-3 bass pick-up notes at the front of each witty couplet. Ahh, the quiet grace of a simple song archetype. "Matinee Idol" sounds typically Portland, with its ethereal melody and dash of twinkling synth. And by the time "Nautilus Sun" closes things in a lush, paced crescendo with a drone undercurrent, solemn chimes, and a high note sustained like I thought only an Icelandic singer was capable of, the only band whose name I was thinking about was Sunset Valley.

So, after all those kind words, why does an original-sounding album rate just below a knock-off? Well, for one, that aforementioned "P" band was so supremely talented that even the wannabes-- if they were good-- came off as fairly decent. You know how certain bands' throwaway b-sides are better than most other bands' entire recorded output? Same logic. I've said it time and again. Just because you came up with something original doesn't make you a genius. In the case of Sunset Valley, however, it does make you worth hearing.

-John Dark