I hope you'll forgive me if I mention the Pixies more than ten times in this review, but it's only because their specter hangs over everything Spoon does-- though not as some sort of platonic ideal that mere mortals can only dream of achieving; more like Obi- Wan Kenobi, a benevolent teacher who has since passed on, but whose dutiful students are now out saving the galaxy. A Series of Sneaks, Spoon's major label debut, has the tossed- off vibe of the Breeders' Pod, throaty howls directly from the Black Francis School of Singing, and the perverse, magical language of Surfer Rosa all distilled into fourteen compressed- air blasts of chunky guitar pop that make up one of the catchiest albums of the year so far.

Frontman Britt Daniel expresses a distinct affinity for off- kilter rhythms and meters, as well as the "white space" between instruments that became hallmarks of the Pixies' sound, but on A Series of Sneaks he takes them to their logical extremes, cramming an endless stream of hooks into a ridiculously small amount of time (only two of the album's tracks exceeds three minutes). Each song is like an aquarium full of Superballs, with every sound bouncing around at a skewed angle-- instruments ping-ponging between speakers or popping up occasionally to punctuate a sentence. And then there are the vocals: where Black Francis bellowed weird science about incest and aliens, Daniel speaks of oblique teen angst in staccato barks, his voice thick and pouty as he sashays through jerky rave- ups like "Utilitarian" and "The Guestlist/ The Execution" as well as smooth Pavement- worthy aches like "Metal Detektor" and "Advance Cassette".

It's been said that the best albums aren't those which are perfect, but those which hint at the possibility of perfection. A Series of Sneaks is such an album; occasionally it feels more like a collection of rough sketches than actual songs. I salivate at the thought of the album that could have been produced had Spoon actually finished writing their songs, but Spoon's offhanded enigmatism is much more preferable, and paradoxically that much closer to perfection.

-Nick Mirov