The Figgs refuse to leave the bar. They feel safe there, insulated from the harsh realities that have blasted them through three record labels over the course of four short years. They spend their time drinking and smoking, rehashing what went wrong, and reminiscing about how great things used to be. Like on their debut, Low-Fi At Society High, when they recorded an album of pub- rock as brilliant as anything Elvis Costello or Graham Parker ever managed to lay down. But when the record label Low-Fi was released on went under, the Figgs' fortunes were sold like those of an overachieving, overlooked minor leaguer to Capitol, who sent them packing after their Banda Macho failed to sell.

Now, calling the ultra- indie label Absolute A Go Go home, realization of their fate may be settling in: the Figgs were born never to be noticed, and never to be high. Yet, here we find them, momentarily soaring again, only occasionally clipped by tired material. Their complex pop genius still sounds so casual, so unassuming. Only at the record's end do they admit their curse, singing "It's always a breakdown."

Last call, you say? Wait a minute. Life's been unfair to the Figgs and that calls for another drink. Bring 'em another round, since they've gone out of their way to do the same for us. Just don't ask them to pay for it. They're broke.

-James Coyle