Are they really the Dark Fantastic? Let's place Goodbye Crooked Scar, the band's second full-length release, where it belongs in the colliding spectra of Shades and Quality. Somewhere between the Dim Mediocre and the Dusky Pretty Good, Mark Pickerel and his friends find themselves in the realm of the Gray Alright.

Pickerel is probably sick of reading about how he played drums with the Screaming Trees (Did I nearly lose you there? Remember Grunge? The two really fat guitarists?), especially since he left them ten years ago and there's no real sonic connection. Pickerel's drumming is very important to this band's sound, though. He slaps the low toms and some skinned drums to give the music an exotic caveman beat. But Mark Pickerel isn't just any former sideman. And he isn't just some drummer who writes songs. No, Mr Pickerel is a lyricist.

One can tell that Pickerel writes the words first. See him scrawling feverishly into a spiral notebook. He revises and revisits his precious words until he feels they're perfect little poems. Then, he finds a chord sequence he likes and slaps the words on down. Hear how he sometimes crams too many syllables awkwardly into a line, or how sometimes his thought gets cut in two in order to accommodate the changes.

These are hardly uncommon or fatal flaws for a lyricist, but let's take a close look at some of these words. For example, the opening track, "Fall to My Knees":

My brother left in search of truth, my sister prosperity
I can't think of anything I'd rather find than you with me
And though it's not Versailles, I see no reason why
We couldn't fall in love right here
And though the stars in my place are just paper and paste
They still glow whenever you walk near

It's kind of like a teenage Leonard Cohen, with its ponderous, allegorical tone and lovestruck nature. There's nothing egregiously wrong here, but its flaws are pretty ugly: his brother and sister have nothing to do with the rest of the song, nor does Versailles or any other palace. The line about glow-in-the-dark stars is nice, but isn't it just a roundabout and more ornate way to say, "I dig you, babe?" It's all poetic window dressing, without taking the song deeper. The rest of the song scatters around some religious terminology, complete with a "love/from above" couplet.

I guess I figured out what "the scars appear above the paint" means (cracked paint, right?) in the song "Hour of Need." That doesn't make it a good line. "My Wandering Eye" has these lines that I can't figure out the meaning of: "the pretty spots on a leopard skin/ Are there to hide for attack again." The titular problem of "Architect" is that some words just don't belong in pop songs, and one of them is "architect."

Not all the words are overcooked. "Your Avenue" has some good lines. Note the brevity: "Like she said/ Slow in the head/ Out of empty bottles/ And into empty beds." Yeah, but words are pointless, anyway. They really are; one MP3 is worth more than this entire review. So how, then, does it sound?

Pickerel's primal drums aside, Jesse Sea provides just about the best accompaniment any singer/songwriter could ever pray for, slashing in with spirited stabs of guitar. He often lays back with bassist Mike Elkins to reservedly support the songs. His guitar never calls undue attention to itself, but does add real drama with some heavy rockabilly fills, all the more effective since the sound is smoky bar-rock rather than country. Sea also adds some spectral keyboards, which can moan like a humpback whale or chime like approaching angels. It all lifts and supports the precious words.

Mark's voice is multitracked, sounding like the Bevis Frond's Nick Saloman in a lower register. Or, if you're not one of the eighteen fans of that fine act, Pickerel's harmonies are like a less alien David Bowie, especially on "Fall to My Knees," where the Middle Eastern flavor and low croaking suggests something off Lodger. (Music Trivia! Bowie actually had some good albums!) There's someone else-- someone from the 80's-- in Pickerel's throat, but I can't place exactly who. A-ha! Thank you, Pitchfork; a June 20th review reveals the likely answer: Icicle Works! No wait, Echo and the Bunnymen.

Which is not to say this record dwells in any by-gone era. There are some acoustic guitars, and the drumming is the opposite of the militaristic snare sound of that decade. Most of the songs are slow, the production is clean, and the sound is overcast and mournful. "Architect" is the exception, with uptempo ping-ponging guitars and keyboards. There's little innovation, but there are also not many hooks, which is essential. Often, it's hard to differentiate the melodies, and harder to hum them. Pickerel tends to fall into a rut with rather prosaic descending lines of notes.

Pickerel should stick with Sea. I'm voiding my mind of any fish jokes here. Probably because I'm just about done with the review. If I'd come up with any earlier, I'd surely have written some awful high-concept "fish out of water" story, with passing references to the album. Instead, I'm talking about how I could have been all "clever," and I'm still not reviewing the album.

Where was I? Stick with Sea, Mr. Pickerel. Write a few songs music-first, or better yet, mumble nonsense around one key phrase and a hook and see what happens. Tone down your poetry. And maybe then we can charcoal in some real darkness where the purple used to be. It could be fantastic.

-Dan Kilian