Ah, the sophomore album, the most crucial of releases. There's always an inherent sense of suspense involved. Will it let down the fans or convert the masses? Will it do both? In some cases, it's the sound of a band truly arriving: The Bends, Dog Man Star, Millions Now Living Will Never Die. In other cases, it's the sound of wasted potential, like the Stone Roses' Second Coming. Then, of course, there are the ones that do absolutely nothing to change your perception of the band, failing to overcome the feet-finding of the debut.

Tinstar have tried so hard to make that first kind of follow-up-- the kind that makes the uninitiated stand up and take notice. Instead, they've merely joined the legions of Pro Tools tweakers and turned up with results best described in one word: a big, heartfelt, shoulder-shrugging "eh." The band even removed the space between "tin" and "star" in an attempt to appear fresh. All this accomplishes is confusion in record bins. It's been two years since their first full-length, The Thrill Kisser, flew under the radar, and the trio of vocalist David Tomlinson, guitarist/programmer Tim Bricheno, and keyboardist/programmer Tim Gordine has made baby steps toward expanding their sound somewhat in the interim.

Dirtybird opens with ice rink strings before launching into the unremarkable leadoff track, "The American." With its dopey "Boy gets girl/boy loses girl" chorus and chugging beats, the song flounders for a few minutes before finally finding itself with a brief, but soulful harmonica solo. The title track follows, watering down Beck's sing-speak deadpan by a few fluid ounces and throwing some Gremlins-esque la-la samples into the mix for good measure. The dense production and sticky Rhodes piano licks are nice, but it's not until the heavy dance-rock of "Sunshine" that anything actually impresses. "Sunshine" opens wide up in the chorus and makes it clear that these guys can actually kick out the jams when they want to.

"Lolita" exploits Nabokov, but stops far short of literacy. Fortunately, Tomlinson really lets himself stretch out here, making it abundantly clear that his broad range and strong vocals are Tinstar's secret weapon. If the band could only find a way to get more mileage from his talent, they could actually develop a distinctive sound around him. Instead, they opt for the full-on Depeche Mode-isms of "Angel of the North." The 10:00 dance party beats promise to have the kids home by midnight, and the glossy synth sheen floats by on autopilot.

Up to this point, Dirtybird is really nothing special, but it's at least totally passable, probably warranting a Pitchfork rating somewhere in the fives. But then something awful happens. "Pacify" is a horrifying mess of limp hip-hop beats and ham-fisted, whispered quasi-rapping. The abysmal chorus can't muster anything better than this: "If I find you, I might crucify you/ If I find you I might string you up/ You ain't gonna' pacify me." The second time around, Tomlinson throws in a thoughtful little "fuck you," before accusing the "motherfuckers" who are apparently trying to pacify him of "stealing things that don't belong" to them. This stuff wouldn't even make an elderly Amish woman feel threatened. Oh, and if that's not bad enough, it's full of vocoders! Is anyone else tired of these damn things? The second half of the album finds the band trying to take their sound in new directions, though I wouldn't recommend they continue in any of them. Guest drummer Rupert Brown desperately attempts to spice up the lame faux trip-hop of "Grey Hotel" with a nice Latin groove, but the band just throws up a wall of standard-fare electronics and hopes for the best. "Why Do You Love Me?" features another crap chorus in the middle of a sea of boring speak-singing: "Why do you love me?/ You're so ugly/ Why do you love me?" Brilliant! The backing vocals offer insight into how "Bombs over Baghdad" would sound if Outkast had run out of inspiration halfway through recording Stankonia.

Ultimately, Dirtybird peters out with the treacly ballad "Far Away," as Tomlinson waxes Bono over a Songs of Faith and Devotion backdrop. And this follows a song called "Treacle," which rails against false sentimentality-- the irony is thick as pea soup! For all their efforts, Tinstar can't save themselves from their lack of focus. Though it has its rare moments, Dirtybird ultimately comes off like a birthday party balloon deflating in a child's bedroom corner, trying to come off like the Hindenberg exploding at Lakehurst. Oh, the humanity!

-Joe Tangari