Splinter

It's more mixing of stylized and hybridism with left-field musical experimentation and in-the-now pop culture lyrical references on , 's seventh full-length. and each bristle with overdriven guitars and 's high-pitched bleating; they're somewhat workmanlike, but still roil with that precision fury particular to a veteran band. At the same time, , guitarist , and bassist can't resist returning to the towel-slapping trash humor and mean-spirited loathing that typified past tracks like Lead single talks up baby daddies over a bopping bassline and keyboard right out of a track, while subverts its lighthearted acoustic strum with foul-mouthed (on the clean version, anyway) attacks on a philandering girlfriend ("I'm not the one who acted like a ho"). overdrives while paying homage to hardcore Hawaiian board riders, and ends with sage advice about protecting your dignity in the clink. For whatever reason, the latter track is performed as 1930s Brill Cream dinner theater, complete with the faked crackle of an old 78 and muffled crooner vocals suggestive of a whining Victrola. The curious renews the longstanding knock on . They're very talented, write killer hooks, and can really crank up a racket when they want to, like on the standout But the accessibility and crackling energy come shackled to crassness and frivolity, making the listener wonder whether and his boys are committed to making effective music, or need to fill up albums with throwaways like the directionless the -hop predictability of or the aforementioned It's the old saying -- the jokes were funny once, but just don't keep over time. This questioning of intent will likely be irrelevant for longtime fans. They'll be more than happy with , which crams every last piece of the puzzle -- slickly produced racket, hints of anti-establishment rabble-rousing, and reams of relationship and strip mall culture gaggery -- into its brief half-hour run time. ~ Johnny Loftus