Call it more wink- wink, nudge- nudge geek irony that a band interested in being so lyrically profound would name themselves after that shameless Partridge Family poet laureate. But, hey, it's hip to make such smirky references to idiotic '70s TV heroes, ain't it, kiddies? I mean, why not just call yourselves the Leif Garretts? Certainly the tragi-comic aspects of Mr. Garrett's life would mirror lead Bonaduce Doug MacLean's so- sad- it's- almost- funny storytelling throughout most of The Democracy of Sleep. McLean's hyper- serious, long- winded laments certainly belie the music's simple pop chord changes; it's an approach the band obviously has down to such a rigorous science that predictability, at some point, is almost unavoidable.

Considering the current fin de siecle identity crisis rock seems to be floundering in-- with pre- programmed machinery and software threatening to de-humanize popular music forever-- it's always refreshing to hear a band revert back to the basics. The Bonaduces' rousing power- chord attack brings to mind the heyday of good ol' '80s Minneapolis- style power-pop, like Hüsker Dü, the Replacements and early Soul Asylum.

And if you're hip to contemporaries the Figgs, or even Harvey Danger, then you have a general idea of what the Bonaduces offer sonically. These guys certainly don't care for solos much (and hey, neither did the Partridge Family, come to think of it) but they do sneak in the occasional clever hook now and again. And at odd moments, they also flirt with the sublime-- especially on the melodious "Damage Done," a near- perfect gem of a song about coping with the untimely loss of a loved one, and the unavoidable life changes that inevitably surface.

Oh, and check out these other songs (and their crazy titles): "I Nominate My Kitten for the King of the Dead," is about the deeper, more adult implications of a certain childhood diary entry concerning a pet's burial ceremony. Then there's "The Second Annual National Depression Awareness Day Sleepover Party," in which McLean lashes out at the boy- scout nihilism and empty artistic pretensions that threaten his dignified personal Utopia: "And when the drinks run dry, what comes next?/ Do we read aloud from Sivvie Plath/ Pin the Tail on the Diane Arbus photographs/ Is this my fate to watch you degenerate/ To scoop up your doodles of me for your posthumous auction at Christie's?" Throughout, McLean takes care to crank his Ben Folds-like white-guy wail way up in the mix.

Sure, these guys can be cloying romantics, mild cynics, heavy- handed ironists, and just plain verbose. But it'd be unfair to say that the Bonaduces aren't capable of a certain morose elegance, to be sure-- especially when McLean coughs up a line such as, "Suicide can be this subtle thing that keeps burrowing through your routine/ Until you stop eating and phones just ring themselves to sleep."

So, The Democracy of Sleep is worth a listen. The consistently poppy bounce of the music does, for the most part, serve to offset the despondent lyrical bent. Although you may want to supplement the listening experience with a little St. John's Wort just to be safe.

-Michael Sandlin