In a way, I actually kind of identify with Sunday's Best. They're a relatively new and unknown band, no matter how experienced, but not too ambitious or eager to please. They see their peers doing strange new things with their chance to be heard, but they remain true to their form. Such is my place here at Pitchfork. No fancy post-rock or imaginary conversation reviews for me, thanks. I'm just fine working with the formula and getting used to everything. Sure, aligning myself with such an unapologetically subpar band isn't doing wonders for my self-image, but at least it helps me see where these guys are coming from.

That said, I can't sympathize too much with the band. Judging from their full-length debut, Poised to Break, they have yet to truly get in touch with their inner mediocrity. Sometimes I write a sentence and then stare at it and wonder if I didn't already read it somewhere in our archives. But somehow, I don't think Sunday's Best writes a song and ponders how many times that riff or that melody has been used before. They just get the chorus and the verses down and move on.

Most of the time, these songs bear a vague but nagging familiarity that can actually be kind of comforting-- it's a formula that's kept countless unimaginative bands in business for years. But Poised to Break just happens to open with a song that borrows its vocal melody directly from the verses of "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" by the Police. Exactly. Verbatim. I could only guess whether they realized it at the time, but someone has to have pointed it out to them by now. In fact, I think Brent DiCrescenzo's on the phone with Sting's people right now. Watch out guys-- you might be paying for the Raspy One's next turtleneck.

After swinging dangerously close to outright plagiarism, the album proceeds to settle into garden variety predictability. Thankfully, bassist/vocalist Edward Reyes eventually lets up on his well-honed nasally punk delivery and reveals a surprisingly pleasant singing voice that intermittently resembles that of Built to Spill's Doug Martsch. Still, an ingratiating voice doesn't go too far to prop up lyrics filled with forgettable sentimentality and the kind of simple-headed phrases you only hear in rock songs. I don't remember the last time I used the phrases "we want it now" or "just move along" in conversation, but I'm sure I've heard it in a song somewhere before Sunday's Best recycled it.

The songs continue to pile up. There are riffs and choruses and drumbeats and all that stuff. The drummer hits the crash cymbal on the fourth beat. G turns to D. The vocals always come in after that certain number of bars that has been scientifically calibrated as the point at which the repetitive instrumentation begins to wear thin. That's music, right? But shouldn't there be a little more to it than these clean-cut components? Must it all be left up to conditioned response?

While everyone has their own opinion, by now, each of us has a stock reaction to this music because we've all heard it so many times. I'm hesitant to zero in on just one band like this, but why not? Just because so many others have made the same mistakes already, does this make Sunday's Best any less guilty of them? Were they just following orders or what? If we call it "emo," will it be redeemed as merely trendy and not downright nondescript? Am I asking all these questions as a subtle commentary on Reyes' tendency to make every lyric sounds like a question, or is it just a happy coincidence?

I'm still not too pleased with the parallels I've drawn between myself and this band. But at the very least, I can lay claim to the kind of self-awareness that Sunday's Best so painfully lack. When I have to write this review all over again for the next unremarkable band that comes down the pike, I'll think to add something new. Meanwhile, Sunday's Best can keep writing this record as many times as they want, because it's already been written by so many other people.

-Al Shipley