The Cribs
have worked with plenty of A-list collaborators over the years, including
Edwyn Collins
,
Franz Ferdinand
's
Alex Kapranos
Johnny Marr
, and
Steve Albini
. Nevertheless, having
Ric Ocasek
produce
For All My Sisters
was an especially inspired choice, considering that the band conceived of the album as a set of pop songs (an
Albini
-produced punk album was set to be released soon after). Much of
the Cribs
' charm comes from their volatile mix of rough and sweet -- especially on their previous album
In the Belly of the Brazen Bull
-- so focusing on just one of those aspects could have diminished their music. However, few of the band's other attempts to polish their style have sounded this natural.
Ocasek
adds just enough new wave sheen to make the most of
' sizeable hooks: Witness the handclaps and buzzy synths on "Mr. Wrong" or "Summer of Chances"' chugging riffs. Touches like these recall not only
the Cars
but also bring out the side of
that resembles
Weezer
, minus that band's endearing and infuriating tangents. Like
Rivers Cuomo
at his most appealingly vulnerable, there's an emotional purity and directness to the
Jarman
brothers' songwriting on
. "Finally Free" opens the album with nostalgia that's as ambivalent as it is bittersweet;
Gary Jarman
sings "why do I still dream of your house?" with a distance that avoids wallowing. Indeed, the Jarmans have become increasingly fine lyricists over the years -- it's not your average punk-pop song that boasts a refrain as poetic as "Burning for No One"'s "like a candle on a vacant table." Sometimes
' misfit anthems are almost too consistent, but
avoid monotony with songs like "Pink Snow," a seven-minute epic that could be a sequel to "Be Safe" from
Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever
(another album that showcased the band's pop side expertly) and "An Ivory Hand," which turns guitar heroics and lighters-aloft choruses into their version of a power ballad. As exciting as the promise of the band going full
is,
shows that a cleaned-up
Cribs
can also be pretty thrilling. ~ Heather Phares