Yesterday, information came to me. It arrived in the form of a sentence, spoken by one of the esteemed Pitchfork writers. It told of big-time music critics calling Grandaddy's The Sophtware Slump "album of the year." Now, pardon me if I sound disturbed, but it's fucking March. And if this is the best thing that sees release this year, we might as well shoot ourselves right now. Really, consider all the great bands that have albums in the 2000 pipeline: Radiohead, the Wrens, Bjork, the Beta Band... do we really want to limit ourselves to Grandaddy this early on?

Atmospheric pop has dominated Critics' Lists for too long. How long ago did Mercury Rev issue Deserter's Songs? Is this all we can aspire to in the future? Where's the goddamn rock these days? Isn't anyone interested in volume? While no one may ever step up to answer these questions, one thing is for certain-- time is running out for this genre, and I have a feeling it's not exactly going to age like wine. For now, though, The Sophtware Slump does the job it's supposed to do. And though it may not qualify as "album of the year" in my book, there's no denying that it's a pretty impressive effort.

The lyrical content of The Sophtware Slump focuses largely on failed industrial machinery-- crashed airplanes, malfunctioning androids, and abandoned appliances-- returning to the earth, or just lying around broken. Undeniably, this is that blasted Radiohead influence rearing its twitchy eye. Yeah, since OK Computer, everyone wants to be them. Really, you can't blame people for attempting their own variations on the theme. OK Computer is, after all, one of the greatest albums our generation has experienced in its time. But bands need to realize that they're not Radiohead, and that no one ever made it into the history books by trying to do what another group had already done better.

The Radiohead influence seems obvious here, coming from a band whose last album, the 1996 (pre-OK Computer) debut Under the Western Freeway, was comprised of light-hearted, Weezer-inspired sing-alongs. But surprisingly, Grandaddy inject the album with an air-tight cohesiveness, and enough of their own personality, emotion and creativity to warrant looking past the fact that someone's already succeeded in recording the ultimate anti-technology album.

But Grandaddy do manage to stir up raw emotion and genuine sincerity over songs that are far hookier and more immediately accessible than Radiohead's. The album's anthemic opener, "He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's the Pilot" gives a glimpse into the album's multi-layered, airy, Godrich-esque production techniques, as well as its general disheartened feel and epic tendencies (the track runs almost nine minutes long).

For the most part, the album's songs are solid to the point that they'd have the potential of becoming indie rock classics if frontman Jason Lytle wasn't content to beat you over the head with them. Out of the gate, these melodies are all enjoyable to an almost surreal degree. And most of them remain that way. The problem arises when Lytle plays the same bars repeatedly without relying on choruses or bridges (as in the almost torturous third track, "Jed the Humanoid"). A few of these tracks also drag on just a little too long.

There are few upbeat tracks on the album, and most of them come toward the beginning. After the heavy-hearted weight of "He's the Pilot," the bouncy "Hewlett's Daughter" serves as a nice breather. "The Crystal Lake" stands as one of the album's highlights with its driving chorus and preprogrammed Cars-inspired keyboard scale. "Chartsengrafs" follows close behind, fueled by buzzing guitars and drawn-out harmonies. And finally, we come to the radio-ready "Broken Household Appliance National Forest," a track about "air conditioners in the woods."

But that's where the happiness ends. The rest of the album wallows in a depression so deep, it'd make your grandparents stock up on canned foods and dress in rags. The Radiohead influence really becomes apparent on the last four tracks. "Jed's Other Poem (Beautiful Ground)" resurrects a verse of "Jed the Humanoid," sung a cappella, before launching into a sparkling, glossy epic and finally settling into the menacing "Knievel Interlude (The Perils of Keeping It Real)." "Miner at the Dial-A-View" kicks in after two minutes, encapsulating the entire album with longing, regretful lyrics ("I dream at night/ Of going home someday/ Somewhere, so far away"), distant melodic beeping, and a female voice giving instructions on the proper usage of the "dial-a-view."

The Sophtware Slump comes to a close with "So You'll Aim Toward the Sky," a spacious five-minute epic that opens with discordant guitar lines over subtle technology-related sound effects. The song repeats four lines over dramatic strings, chimes in the vein of "No Surprises," and Jason Lytle's best Thom Yorke impression. And surprisingly, it's more effective and believable than derived and cloying. When the songs winds down, you're left with a feeling of genuine impact.

Now, I'm not saying The Sophtware Slump even comes close to touching OK Computer, though I can see what about it might drive someone to call it "album of the year" this early on. But we have nine months to go! If we'd said Built to Spill's Keep It like a Secret was the album of the year in January, 1999, we wouldn't have been taking the Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin and the Dismemberment Plan's Emergency & I into account.

So, watch yourself now, 'cause it looks like there's gonna be some pretty crazy hype surrounding The Sophtware Slump this year. Don't let it grab you. Yes, the record is good, but as music fans, we have a duty to expect more from bands than recreations of albums past. We need innovators, not imitators, goddamnit! Think of the children!

-Ryan Schreiber