In 1996, I was one of twelve people in the continental United States that owned a copy of Superdrag's major label debut, Regretfully Yours. I'd heard the album's first single, "Sucked Out," somewhere and more or less liked what I heard. It was your basic pop song-- nothing to write home about-- but what made it stand out were its slick pop vocals. I mean, the other components of the track might not have set my ass ablaze, but those harmonies and melodies were just too goddamned catchy for me to ignore.

So, like any curious music fan might, I went out and bought the album under the assumption that if the band had written one good song, they might have written more. Well, they did, technically. Every track on Regretfully Yours lived up to the standard set by that first single. Unfortunately, none surpassed it. In fact, none of the songs on the album seemed the least bit interested in deviating from that standard in any way, whatsoever. So, instead of having bought one enjoyable, guilty pleasure of a power-pop song, I'd sunk my money into an entire album of them.

At first I was okay with it, but as I listened to the album over time, I began to feel cheated. I wanted substance to my music-- some change or risk, not x number of cloned, lazy pop-rock tracks. So Regretfully Yours, which had potential to be a truly entertaining album, ended up being a mildly pleasant, but completely insubstantial piece of disposable modern music, instead-- something you listen to while waiting for the really, really powerful music to come your way.

Four years later, the boys in Superdrag-- now minus one major label record deal with Elektra-- hit us with In the Valley of Dying Stars. Besides bearing one of the most comically melodramatic titles of the year, In the Valley has the unfortunate pressure of being Superdrag's "comeback album." After strip-mining the already predictable sound of Regretfully Yours and recycling it into their universally ignored sophomore album, Head Trip in Every Key (even I didn't buy that one), Superdrag hit the skids, stopped selling records, and like so many unlucky bastards before them, fell out of the public eye. Now they're back, out to reclaim a place in the spotlight. How do these musical pioneers plan on doing this? Frankly, by releasing the same damn album for a third, and hopefully final, time.

I guess someone in Superdrag is going to have to lose an eye before they figure out that this gimmick just doesn't cut it. Two albums' worth of dismal record sales and critical dismissal hasn't yet convinced them that you need more than slick production and greasy, infectious vocal hooks to make good music.

Don't get me wrong, this stuff isn't actually that awful. I mean, they could do a hell of a lot worse. A lot of the music on In the Valley (and their other albums and EPs) is catchy, cleverly arranged and generally well put together. The music is respectable rock, and whoever writes their songs deserves a pat on the back for their sugary-sweet harmony work. Still, In the Valley is music that's more likely to make you fall asleep than air guitar.

Built around their trademark fuzzy guitars and drums buried so low in the mix they sound almost embarrassed to be there, Superdrag's latest offering comes off as a predictable, less intelligent alternative to Built to Spill's There's Nothing Wrong with Love. Crammed with standard chord progressions and lyrics too vague to have any emotional impact, In the Valley of Dying Stars is nice enough to listen to in small doses, but it's that less intelligent and predictable part of the Superdrag sound that keeps the album from being all-around good. Twelve tracks is apparently not enough breathing room for these guys, as the boys rarely bother to vary from their standard three-minute, three-chord, pop-savvy formula, churning out an album consisting of one texture, one style, and one trick.

The real bitch, though, is that In the Valley hints at what these guys might be capable of if they just took some chances. Three tracks stand out on the album: the ridiculously titled "The Warmth of the Tomb," "Ambulance Driver," and "Unprepared." These three tracks have one thing in common: they sound different than the rest of the shit on the album. "Ambulance Driver" has an obvious country/ southern-rock twang that adds some much-needed soul to the Superdrag catalog; "The Warmth of the Tomb" and "Some Kind of Tragedy" are both slower, looser numbers than the band's typical hyperactive, economy-sized numbers. On these tracks, the band actually sound like they're enjoying playing the music, and not just trying to get the hell out of the studio before their time expires.

There is honest-to-god musical potential here, I swear. Superdrag isn't a total lost cause. In fact, even their mistakes as better than they used to be. This, combined with the genuinely good tracks on the album might mean that, after three records, they're finally hitting their stride. Now, if they'd stop trying to sell the same album time and again, they might actually start selling some of them.

-Steven Byrd