Lately, I find myself thinking maybe too much about musical iconography. Symbolism, I mean. You know, the often goofy, occasionally brilliant hieroglyphics bands dream up, draw and silkscreen on their albums and t-shirts. They don't do it just to brand themselves or to erect immortal totems of their brief cultural radar-blips, but to state a deeper significance, and maybe even send subliminal sales pitches to the gawking public: "You'll listen, because our name looks like this!"

But can I honestly regret the study halls I wasted in junior high meticulously copying the final A in Metallica, judiciously erasing and redrawing, lest I miss the nuanced tilt of its angry, spiked cap or its hooked dagger foot? Of course not! Did the font on the Pixies' Surfer Rosa make me long for Fannie Mae chocolates? Oh my golly, did it. Did my intellect do cartwheels when Tortoise's "boy riding tortoise led by carrot" icon ended up symbolizing the very heart of Douglas Hofstadter's Godel, Escher, Bach? I think you guess the answer to that one.

Then there's that ubiquitous Elephant 6 logo. Alright, I'll admit it. I, too, was momentarily geekened at the thought of a musical collective making similar music of a guaranteed style. It seemed so '60s, yet so modern! I discovered Olivia Tremor Control a little late. Black Foliage spun my head around like Regan MacNeil on a tilt-a-whirl; Dusk at Cubist Castle made that balloon-block-lettered, Fillmore East-style, 1972-looking thingamabob seem like just the talisman to exorcise my trippy-dippy demons in hiding. And with that logo stenciled on the nose of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, Neutral Milk Hotel eventually became my preferred place to spend an overly emotional week.

But you'd be surprised at how quickly six elephants can stir up a backlash. The Apples have consistently failed to fully ripen, and the once spry Elf Power lies dazed in my collection like Bilbo Baggins before Gandalf beckoned. The magic, as they say, is all but gone.

Which brings us to Great Lakes. As the significantly tiny logo on their self-titled debut would have us assume, the usual band of merry dwarves has roused this adventuring party out of comfortable Athens, Georgia and into lazy action. The bearded wizardry of the rightfully legendary Robert Schneider marshals troops from scattered tribes (Kevin Barnes from Of Montreal, Andrew Reiger, the Traveling Elf, and Scott Spillane, a mage aligned Neutral and Good, among others) to the aid of Ben Crum, Dan Donahue, and Jamey Huggins, the Brothers Lakes. Sadly, what we see-- the guest appearances, the logo, even the look of the record-- is exactly what we get.

As expected, Schneider's signature sound proves to be Great Lakes' greatest asset. Credit his uncanny ability to make sturdy brick sound walls out of xylophones and toy synth buzzes made for (and possibly by) kids. But when I say he could have recorded this in his sleep, I'm hardly sure I'm kidding. "Storming" opens with a languor straight from the doldrums, floating a sea-faring slide guitar just above the surface of a mopey psych-march, like a certain chartreuse submarine low on fuel. It's tailed by "A Little Touched," a tune that's about as enthralling as a good Beulah 7" on 33rpm.

I can't rightfully dismiss a track as beautifully layered in circus noise and Nintendo "end of level" music as "Posters for the Theatre," though. Even the lyric evokes a casually distracting tale of a similarly distracted lass lost in visual reverie over those same posters the E6 logo might have been ripped from. But I'll be damned if the familiar melody doesn't conjure the theme to "The Facts of Life" as sung by a perky, bouncing, maniacal clown-Natalie in full, hideous regalia.

Great Lakes sports a few fertile beaches, though. "Become the Ship” melds an Abbey Road- worthy bass line to a patient tune too generically Liverpudlian to be called "Beatles-esque." (Read carefully, Brent.) And anti-dystopia reigns when "Come Home and Come True" hazily recommends, "Don't be busy missing the city/ In a crowd, alone/ Drift up and over the city/ A cloud on your own." This time that deranged clown soft-shoes daintily to a plucky banjo, smiling and slowly handing you the balloon you'll need to float up and away.

But these Great Lakes couldn't rock a toy boat; I remain unconvinced. What used to stand out about the Elephant 6 collective was a genre-busting, studio-noisy, and peppy take on Pink Floyd's Piper at the Gates of Dawn-styled psychedelia. But Great Lakes go glacial into that same old trip, and only those with enough patience or pot to meander along will enjoy this stagnant ecosystem.

-Judson Picco