If you have any predilection at all for meaningless rock trivia, the producer credit alone on 22 Jacks' Going North may speak volumes to you about what's in store. With the legendary Ed Stasium manning the control panels, you pretty much know what to expect. I mean, it's probably a given that the guy who produced the Ramones' Road to Ruin and It's Alive (not to mention engineered the Talking Heads' '77) probably won't be working with some lugubrious Cat Power soundalike, y'know?

Stasium, however, is working with 22 Jacks, a band founded by previous members of Agent Orange, Wax, and the Adolescents. No doubt, we're talking about a buncha guys well-versed in a large litany of bubblegum punk riffs. They prove that a few big ol' barre-chords thrown together can still make for interesting listening if you just pay some attention to detail and fine-tune your dynamics a bit.

I do have one petty grievance concerning Going North, though. I'm not sure why Stasium found it necessary to turn up the vocals so damn much, letting the singer's voice dominate the backing instrumental tracks. I mean, if you're doing some folky acoustic thing, wherein the vocals and lyrics are the main emphasis, that's fine. But a band like 22 Jacks? Shouldn't this guy know better?

Of course, to my discredit, I've never produced any records. Even so, I believe the vocals should be lowered in the mix until it's as if the singer's fighting to deliver his lyrics above the din of the other instruments (see the Ramones debut, for a nice example, or Velvet Underground's White Light/White Heat). It's really more than just a gimmicky way to sound vintage-- it better replicates live performance.

Anyway, I'd venture to say this pop-punk band's overall biological content probably consists of a few more punk chromosomes than pop. Certainly they carry a more volatile and sophisticated edge than lollipop-punk dweebs like Blink 182 (i.e. Green Day naked). But as pop-oriented as 22 Jacks can occasionally be, they're still closer to the Dead Boys than the Beach Boys.

The songs are mostly about transcending and coping with the screwed-up relationships that inevitably evolve among the young and clueless, and the hard lessons we lunkheads may reap from these early trial-and-error life experiences. The Cliffs Notes summary of 22 Jacks' philosophical agenda seems to be: If you can't cope with your heartache and loneliness by initiating confrontation or distancing yourself, you can always medicate yourself and sleep the day away. It's either that or hope that the simple passage of time can cure your ills.

Songwise, one can't help but marvel at these bright, sunshiny choruses rising majestically from verses. "Too Much Time" is a great example. It swells with traditional pop reference points: choruses punctuated by Stax/Volt-era horn sections, soulful piano fills, great harmonies, and the concise guitar parts that say everything that needs to be said with just a handful of notes.

These guys are occasionally capable of real profundity, too, as on "Feeling Sorry": "You like to talk but never want to listen/ You want to place the blame before it's put on you/ You answer every question with a question/ A veil of innocence sees through." "Sometimes" has a somewhat nastier bite to it, throwing in some Johnny Thunders-style gutter-trash guitar moves. The band also doesn't hesitate to delve into some Clash-influenced punkified reggae that even Mick Jones might wet his knickers over. The laid-back "Highway" gives way to a reverb-doused Duane Eddy twang-- the guitar's isolated, far-away echo perfectly emphasizes the distance-related theme of the song.

Going North speeds by in a blinding flash of rock-n-roll-- it's 35 minutes of sharp, rock-solid songcraft. Admittedly, I can't pinpoint any blatantly weak material. There is some needless overproduction going on here, though. Thankfully, Stasium didn't let the band get stoned and decide to tack on some "experimental" track to fill the remaining 30 minutes of available disc space, as so many bands are fond of doing these days. So, if you aren't enjoying the weak landscape of emo and indie pop, 22 Jacks might be worth your time. I'll take 'em over Green Day naked anyday.

-Michael Sandlin