Ear specialists will tell you -- stuffing shreds of barroom TP in there to stave off the ringing is a myth. But if you're worried about hearing loss and you stick around long enough, their next breath'll swear you off hearing . , the Portland quartet's 2002 debut, was a tin roof rusted howler of guitar squall and clanging echo. They haven't turned anything down on , and appropriately, they're still on . What is different is the defining behind the deafening. and both introduce a strong guitar lead before the inevitable open hi-hat slam, so listeners can actually recognize a melody. And 's vocals suddenly have a little feeling, instead of just relying on that monotone microphone delivery that used to count as a take. The latter song especially is a nice leap forward for -- it's that contorted shout Pacific Northwest style hitching a ride to Of course, there's still some nonsense on this album. No matter how many times screams it doesn't make that cut anything more than two minutes of clink-clink percussion and strangulated beating off. And seems to bite on tinfoil just because it can. But these passages still work in the larger scope of , because they're positioned alongside a broken neon interlude like or which plays quite cohesive songwriting masterfully off ' constant jones for aural scrawl. (They don't amp up vacuums and malfunctioning power drills for their health.) Other highlights include the insane, torn of (take that, !) and the cover that binds to an epoch of American that seems their purest (loudest) forebear. ~ Johnny Loftus