Sometimes brown things can be quite good. I'm writing this review on a bellyful of Cocoa Pebbles and its accompanying cocoa- stained milk. The Cleveland Browns used to be pretty good. I had a St. Louis Browns fitted ballcap back in high school because my grandfather told me that they once put in a midget batter. But when it comes to music, brown-- or any of its shades (khaki, tan, taupe, burnt sienna, etc.)-- is the last color I want to hear.

The Stereophonics just sound very brown, and in the worst way. As Shakespeare's Benedick proclaims in "Much Ado About Nothing," "Why, I'faith, methinks [Performance and Cocktails is] too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise." Exactly! Shakespeare knew what I was talking about. Listening to Performance and Cocktails is similar to sucking on a folded up pair of Gap Khakis. The title alone suggests that the band might be in the business for the riders alone.

That said, there are two types of rock bands that come from Wales. The first and more exciting faction is the goofy psychedelic pop front with the Super Furry Animals and Gorki's Zygotik Mynci. Those bands slip into their native tongue occasionally, weaving a slight mystical, elven vibe. Pompous stadium rock bands constitute the second bunch of Welsh rock groups. The Manic Street Preachers lead this pack, with the Stereophonics trailing some millions of records behind in sales figures. But at least the Manics manage to infuse feelings of ennui and burnt- out intellectualism into their arena rock, which perhaps comes from the fact that one of the band's founding members used to carve stuff into his arms with razors before disappearing into the Himalayas a few years ago. The Stereophonics manage to infuse, well, lots of brown and tan into their music.

Listening to Performance and Cocktails makes you raise a pint in the air, throw an arm around a mate, wear a soccer flag as a cape, and remin... um, nah. It makes you nod your head and remark, "Yep, this is rock music." Strangely, these guys sound both extremely British and extremely American. Kelley Jones' gusting sneer mixes the whiny drawls of British chart- toppers with the over- the- top alterna- crooning of American wannabe- chart- toppers. Fittingly, his lyrics straddle that Atlantic line between England's vapid "everybody feel good" rock poetry and the insipid storytelling of Yankee FM radio.

In the opening track, Jones belts out, "Roll up and sheeee-ine." "Shine" is the official meaningless, overused word in Britrock. Of course, it could be worse-- he could rhyme it with "mind," (the second most meaningless and overused word in Britrock) like so many Noel Gallagher tracks. The song ends up sounding frighteningly like a trans- oceanic hybrid of Oasis and the Verve Pipe, and nothing good can come from that congress. What two bands does "The Bartender and the Thief" bring to mind, you ask? Simply enough, Our Lady Peace and Supergrass.

The album continues with an overwhelming assault of whines and chords that neither stick nor particularly rock. The production tastes like Guinness (which, okay, is Irish)-- roasted, bitter, and heavy. They also stick with the Britrock standards on the guitar tracks, which invariably sound like distorted lead or acoustic tin. Again, Benedick said it best: "Is it not strange that sheep's gut should hale souls out of men's bodies?" I mean, maybe at some point, aggressive strumming and its resulting volume corresponded to emotional outpouring, but let's face it: we've heard this stuff a hundred times before.

Basically, what Performance and Cocktails boils down to is loud music engineered and crafted for Britain's summer festival circuit that practically guarantees a perennially muddy experience. Picture it: as the Stereophonics chug soupy chords from the main stage, skinny drunk kids line up for the Portaloos, caked in brown. There you have it.

-Brent DiCrescenzo