Since the early 2000s, what's now known as has been consistently codified into something eminently marketable. Screaming bloody murder over churning angular guitars has suddenly salable qualities, as long as the rage is offset by whimpering pianos and heart-flailing harmonies. This systemization isn't necessarily bad, as the groups it affects often make very arresting music. But that doesn't mean the formula itself isn't questionable. In 2004 unleashes its first full-length via , after debuting with an EP for the tiny New York imprint . And it has the right idea, using dense lyricism and inventively propulsive drumming to separate from the teeming pack. But like so many of its peers, tempers its fury with oddly soft-focus introspection. 's incredible drumming drives de facto opener through its wildly shifting time signatures, and the clipped guitars flail appropriately. too, incorporates pacing and a flurry of double bass kicks. But the dark energy in these introductory tracks dissipates in the carnival synthesizers and music box effects of which suggests 's awkward dalliance with its serious side. This isn't a slight on 's emotional fragility -- after all, everybody hurts. But what happened to the ? Why does the ethos demand milky melancholy as a bed partner to vicious screamo and rhythms? "Thunderstorms could never stop me," the straight acoustic balladry of croons. "'Cause there's no one in the world like ." , if you're reading this, you really screwed this kid up. Later, he's listening to in his car, and deciding self-pity is better than relationship torture. An album title like seems to imply a needling of the very formula, and name-checking admits how overwrought it can all really be. But sounds too sincere in its sadness to be kidding. Luckily, the anger rocks. chases 's tears with cocksure lyrics, stuttering percussion, and raw dual vocals. And despite its needlessly weighty title, is an explosion of great ideas that proves the potential in to break the mold wide open. More , less schlock! ~ Johnny Loftus