Scroll down for reviews of the latest from Sondre Lerche, David Mead, The Contrast, The Lackloves and The Davenports

Sondre Lerche
Two Way Monologue

(Astralwerks)


Release Date: March 9, 2004

www.sondrelerche.com

How does Bergen, Norway's once-child prodigy follow up a critically acclaimed debut album (Faces Down) that showed musical maturity and promise far beyond his years? Well, now that high school is long over with, the 21-year old Sondre Lerche (pronounced lair-kay) has released an even more controlled collection, chock full of tidy melodic pop and poised lounge-ish charm.

In the modern troubadour fashion of a Rufus Wainwright or Ed Harcourt, Lerche takes his soft crooner stylings to new heights in Two Way Monologue. Lerche's personal musical world seems a far nicer and simpler place than that one we hear about on the nightly news, and his voice exudes quiet confidence borne of years of playing in this sophomore effort.

I'm sure critics will cite the likely Nick Drake references, perhaps throwing in a Ron Sexsmith comparison or two - but in truth, Lerche takes a whole record bin's worth of musical influences and distills them into something jazz-tinged and pleasant. Still, what distinguishes much of his well-crafted pop are the little nuances, the arrangements and instrumentations that back his quiet vocals and acoustic guitar.

Whether this is Lerche's doing, or merely the good fortune of his association with veteran producers Jorgen Traeen and HP Gundersen, I cannot say. While Lerche self-produced two tracks, the majority of the songs here and their nifty nuances seem to fall under the purview of Traeen and Gundersen. Lerche also gets top-notch instrumental support from his band (also known as Faces Down), with Morten Skage on bass, Ole Ludvig Kruger on drums, while Traeen and Gundersen and a host of others contribute as well.

The new album leads off with the sweeping instrumental "Love You," which musically takes off from the guitar chords behind "Things You Call Fate," the last track on his debut album (taking continuity to a new extreme). Lerche arranged the strings and handled guitars, bass, glockenspiel, programming and percussion.

"Track You Down" is a pleasantly mid-tempo song, featuring Lerche's sweet vocals expounding some dream-like commentary on a sky-downing attack. The lyrics are somewhat oblique, but obviously intended that way: "Down came the sky and everything went black / I saw you, you saw me / And you were naked, which was weird / But in that space in time we played the strangers again."

"On The Tower" sports some truly lovely harmonies, and is a prime example of the new confidence Lerche exhibits. There are little synth hooks and noises at song's end, and a nice electric guitar solo by Lerche, but overall, this is a jaunty winning number about the difficulties of communication in a relationship (and in writing songs as well). If you give it several listens, this is one of the ones that will haunt you.

The folkish beginning to the title track is endearing, a boy singing with acoustic guitar accompaniment to his Mum and Pa. By the second verse, the song builds into something larger and far more complex, with intriguing syncopated rhythms and a bevy of electronic sounds and subtleties. While much of the lyrics defy analysis, there's a sense of a boy recollecting imaginary simpler times: "We were chasing rabbits on the hill / And that prairie-life was great, but never real." This song tops the five-minute mark, and does so in surprising and unexpected ways.

"Days That Are Over" opens with a Strawberry Fields-type organ, then changes into a little jazzy/pop tune reminiscent of Steely Dan, then morphs into something else entirely. Lerche manages to avoid easy comparisons in the way that he and/or his producers manage to combine and separate several things into one. Throw in some Burt Bacharach type horns and set your blenders to "easy listening, masterfully achieved."

Lerche is a little raw-voiced on his Beach Boys-influenced solo effort "Wet Ground" (he is responsible for all voices and instrumentation). Somber and dark lyrics run counter to the happy harmonies, which is another nice touch: "Wet ground and the stars are still out shining / Neon lights were never oh, so blinding / Prosecute the ones who stand accused / Let the others go or leave them dying."

Similarly, "Counter Spark" employs a bunch of harmonic "ba-baas" (more Flo & Eddie or The Association than Beach Boys), with interesting touches that recall everyone from Madness to The Partridge Family. There's a lot going on here, and words that hint at some kind of love/relationship issues being hashed out: "You questioned men and called them whores / But you would never burn your bra / You held your head up in the rain / Your eyes were focused, mine were grey / You had relationships that worked and yet experience with jerks / So well adjusted, but with charm / Your eyes were focused and yet calm."

"It's Over" takes the production up a notch, utilizing lush strings and horns and double-tracked vocals in a piano-based song that could fit comfortably into some musical theater offering. While this melody is far from immediately accessible, it's an undeniably beautiful arrangement surrounding it. This is a message of optimism, I believe: "I don't know much about this world / but I can tell you one thing as I pass you by / Nothing has been lost."

Probably my favorite here is the bouncy "Stupid Memory," which sports a surprising alt-country arrangement behind Lerche's wrestling with all the stupid crap stuck in his memory. While Jorgen Traeen provides some great electronic sounds that percolate behind the song, Kato Adland accompanies with equally impressive pedal steel guitar.

Jazz enthusiasts will enjoy "It's Too Late," another song that serves to impress with Lerche's range of stylistic influences, as well as with the music itself. Here Lerche is trying to let go of a relationship lost: "'Cause time won't wait 'till it's too late to find out who you were / If you had let me make one honest mistake, I'd try to change your mind."

The short "It's Our Job" effectively lets the guitar mirror the melody line being sung. The closer "Maybe You're Gone" features more beautiful instrumentation and arrangements, from Gabriel Fliflet's moody accordion to horns co-arranged by Sean O'Hagan and Andy Robinson. The lyrics debate the merits of patiently waiting for dreams to happen, but the real emotional impact is in the music itself.

While these twelve complex songs are well-crafted little gems, they aren't nearly as accessible as many of the standouts from Faces Down. Lerche admits that this new album is a bit of a "grower." He suggests a recommended 20 plays before fully forming an opinion - I'm not sure that's entirely necessary. I'd say by the time you've listened ten times you'll be hooked.

At the ripe old age of 21, Lerche has surrounded himself with talented musicians and producers that do great justice to his musical ideas. Gundersen and Traeen bolster those ideas on Two Way Monologue, and flesh them out in ways that make careful listening a delight. The rich diversity of styles and instrumental twists and turns makes this one a pleasant surprise throughout.

This is a more personal effort than his first release, and one that requires much more from the listener, but Sondre Lerche appears to be the real deal - a pop musician in the classical sense, one who takes pride in his craft and delivers ambitious songs that avoid predictability.

I credit the musicians and producers alongside Lerche for this one, but Two Way Monologue is that pleasant pop rarity - sophisticated music where the song remains king. Give this the time it requires and you'll be amazed at how Lerche continues to create music far beyond his years.

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David Mead
Indiana

(Nettwerk America)

U.S. Release Date: May 4, 2004
U.K. Release Date: May 31, 2004

www.davidmead.com

For me, there are two things that stand out about David Mead (and I'm not counting his great hair): his impeccable voice and his fine songwriting. The good news is that both are on display with his new and most intimate eleven-song collection Indiana.

Warm and wistful, this winsome new album presents thoughts in a straightforward manner, reflecting the traveling life of a solo musician struggling to play and survive, maturing and pondering what insights fate presents. As such, there's plenty of quietly contemplative pop, sweet, honest and insightful without being overly sappy or treacly. This is the gentleman crooner personified, charming you with a voice that's liquid gold.

Mead found himself without a record deal following his first two releases (The Luxury of Time and Mine And Yours) and perhaps a bit burnt out in general from life in NYC. Realizing how the arts and music community of the big apple promotes a kind of "age 22 preserved unto infinity," Mead began to miss not growing older. As such, he decided to return to Nashville, back to family and friends and the very places that started him on his musical journey.

Joining up with producer/cellist David Henry (Josh Rouse, Guster) and old musical friends Brad Jones, Marc Pisapia and Joe Pisapia, Mead chose to record a bunch of songs written over the years that he truly liked. Without any record execs exerting pressure for some kind of massive single, Mead and friends could relax in the service of the songs.

The end results reflect this ease - there's a feeling of familiar comfort that comes across in the soft acoustic arrangements and musical performances - as though this is some kind of personal gift from Mead to the listener.

The album opens with the guitar strains of "Nashville," relating and reflecting on that bittersweet return home: "Going back to Nashville, thinking about the whole thing / guess you gotta run sometimes / maybe I'm a fast train rolling down the mountain / watching all my life go by." Mead's serene tenor conveys the mixed emotions well - that it's not New York, that it's safe and warm where nothing ever happens, but ultimately, that he loves the place.

Another mid-tempo ballad, "You Might See Him" is chock full of emotional mystery - alluding to an enigmatic and uncertain "him." Mead's beautiful voice soars here, describing this walking paradox of a man: "You might hear him begging for forgiveness / dishing out some nonsense that only brings you down / And you might hear him singing like his mother / a distant little number that barely makes a sound / He might be walking on water / he might be floating through air / but through the darkest reminders / he will be hoping you're there."

The title track is one of the more upbeat numbers here, a tale of hard knocks on the road touring, calling his sugar from out in the middle of nowhere, telling her how much he misses her, accompanied by the weepy lap steel guitar of Joe Pisapia. This infectious tune perfectly captures that empty expanse and the loneliness behind it: "I'm pulling off at a truck stop / It's a glamorous life / Indiana's the wrong place to be breaking apart / On a road that goes on forever / like a hole in your heart."

The other irresistibly catchy number here is the sweet "OnePlusOne" (complete with handclaps and more). Here Mead explores the upper registers his voice allows, complete with harmonies, in describing a couple joining together in growing up and leaving the safety of family to face the world as a team (fitting, I suppose, since Mead has recently gotten married).

Two of Mead's older chestnuts finally have made it through to a studio release. The whimsical pseudo-gospel of "Bucket Of Girls" presents a musical celebration of feminine wiles: "Diving for pearls, I ran out of air / swam through the world of bosoms and hair / pristine she was, but weren't they all / mercy, what god gave a girl."

"New Mexico" serves up the clip-clop percussion of a slow horse, with western flair and easy charm, speaking the praises of this dreamy place of cowboys where the air is clean. The vocals and style here remind me of the best of Martin Sexton (a high compliment indeed).

The haunting "Beauty" presents Mead's voice in its best light (on a song that shows the continuing maturity of his songwriting craft). Here, piano and electric guitar serve as accents to heighten the fact that beauty draws us, empty as it might be.

"Only A Girl" builds from mere vocals and acoustic guitar into a horn-laced anthem of sorts, a man haunted by memories and longing for something that sadly, he cannot have: "It's a lonely ol', lonely ol' world / and you're only, you're only a girl / such a beautiful mystery / the gravity pulling a boy to the ends of the earth."

"Ordinary Life" is another disarming jewel of a song, the narrator singing with a sparkle in his eye, wanting past excitement back, fearing the boredom of pedestrian routine, wondering how he got in this place and looking for a woman to save him from it all.

Mead presents an unexpected acoustic cover that turns out to be a pleasant surprise in Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" (actually by Steve Porcaro and John Bettis). Mead makes the song his own by slowing it down and throwing himself into it emotionally. The overall effect is wonderful.

The album closes with "Queensboro Bridge," quite a different look at the structure that made Simon and Garfunkel feel so groovy way back when. Here, strings flavor this somber paean to the island of Manhattan as prison, an "island of vagabonds, a stop on the way to be free." It's a beautiful song about being left there while the entire world goes on, settling for less perhaps but always waiting.

David Mead proves he's only getting better - and while those looking to be rocked might be put off by this relatively mid-tempo collection, there's no denying the quality of each of these special songs. His voice covers a wide range to falsetto and back again; his songs exude emotion, honesty and wit.

Indiana is a warm, pleasant journey from a man realizing that, while he might not set the commercial musical world afire, he's still making a career out of his special, intimate music. Mead, like new label-mate Ron Sexsmith, seems to prefer the quiet revelations afforded with slower-paced softer pop.

With co-producer David Henry, Mead has kept things minimal and focused. Indiana has the intimacy you'd expect from a man reunited with friends and family (the CD booklet even features paintings by his wife, Natalie Cox Mead). All told, it's a special sort of gift, eleven gems of smooth voice and mature songcraft - David Mead, welcome home.

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The Contrast
Fade Back In

(Rainbow Quartz)

Release Date: June 1, 2004

www.thecontrast.net

The Contrast have refined their sound some and made it even more their own in their third album, the newly released Fade Back In. As the band grows ever tighter as a playing unit, and prolific lead singer/songwriter David Reid grows more comfortable at the mike, producer Andy Hawkins has chosen to punch up the vocals some while capturing the rocking sonic mix of guitars and harmonies that is The Contrast.

Hailing from the East Midlands (Peterborough, to be more specific), this quartet produces a sound that calls to mind many bands that have gone before (among them the jangly Rickenbackers of The Byrds, the sonic guitar force of Bob Mould in Husker Du or Sugar or as a solo artist, the guitar-swathed vocals of early R.E.M., the poetic moody rock of Television, the swagger of many a raw garage band, the anger of a younger Costello or Jackson or Parker), yet they remain true originals, carving out a sound that is distinctly their own.

Gone are some of the jazz/blues leanings from the latter part of their previous release (Wireless Days), replaced now with some retro psychedelic influences. Overall, Reid has said this is the bands' "most focused and direct stuff" and I'm inclined to agree. Fans of The Contrast's sound will be very pleased with this new collection, and it's a great starting point for those eager to hear what Reid and his music are about.

The band plays with familiarity and infectious energy, and that fun translates well to the finished product. Comprised of Rickenbacker maestro Reid, Spencer Hart on harmonies and guitars, Richard Mackman on bass and James Crossley on drums, The Contrast are the musically brash angry young men we'd all like to be, honest, punk, pop and self-deprecating in a witty way.

"Give Me One More Chance" opens aptly enough with ringing guitars that open into a solid Crossley beat. It's a tale of a guy asking for a second chance, but structured in such a way that his ardor chills from verse to verse. He's less eager it seems by this second verse: "I don't believe you when you tell me you never gave me up / I know you don't have good allegiance and all your ethics suck / I'll be somewhere in the background just watching you screw up / I will call you when I can if you give me one more chance."

The middle bridge solo features a fine Byrds-like guitar lead, backed by superb bass work from Mackman.

Many of Reid's songs are beat driven and the infectious "George Zipp" is no exception, sporting a strong rhythm of equal drums and guitars. This is a tale of post-altercation friendship (or the questioning of it), as one chides another's actions and desires: "On the floor and raving / I'm not sure if you're worth saving / I can't give you the love you're craving / Don't ask me to try."

Reid's confidence with the guitar is apparent on these songs - he's in control of every note and very in sync with his bandmates. One of the strongest offerings here is "Forget It," another tale of disenchantment and fatal inaction, giving in to giving up on another: "You may as well look the way you do 'cause the wind will never change / You may as well say whatever you like 'cause you know you were always strange / Did you dye your hair - did you think I care?"

"The Guilty Party" is another infectious number, rife with harmonies and guitar hooks, quiet moments and lyrical censure. I'm not sure of the precise reference here, but seems like you can't turn on a television without confronting some "ecstatic guilty party" parading before you.

Reid and company go psychedelic retro on "Catch The Spark," complete with fuzz bass.

This is a call to action, a warning of impending doom in the face of the current state of things: "The devil's right outside my door / the mist is thick, it's a real downpour / I just threw my TV at the wall / We've got to hit the ignition / try to catch a spark / We've got to hit the ignition / before it all goes dark."

The psychedelic vibe continues through to "Your Starring Role," a lyrical bombardment chastising one whose fifteen minutes of fame is underway with paper thin friends, plenty of senseless personal changes and empty hopes: "You are a controlled explosion / Firing repressed emotion / Inventing new self-doubt that's closing in."

On his previous album, Reid offered up a "Drop Dead Gorgeous Love Song." Here we get his "Functional Punk Pop Song" - and it's that and then some, embracing the energy and anger along with the tuneful fun. Kudos to Crossley, who manages to really propel this short tune far beyond functional.

And speaking of drop-dead gorgeous, I can't say enough good things about the chillingly spare ballad "Something Tells Me." Reid's halting voice and sweet guitar take center stage, and you're not likely to find a more emotionally honest reading anywhere. With humor, insight and love, Reid sings of a delicate friendship gone wrong, someone formerly strong who has turned wrong and isn't likely coming back. Reid doesn't often slow down and open up like this, but when he does it becomes musical poetry, haunting and memorable: "and the best thing is the worst thing / when you're outside singing dreams in the rain."

The swift, hard-hitting "Flatpacked" condemns one who doesn't seem to get it, and features some nice guitar lead flash and more of what has come to be that recognizable Contrast sound.

Those seeking more punk/pop flavors (and some more fine bass work from Mackman, as well as some organ from Andy Hawkins) will enjoy "Smart." It's all upbeat fun here, savvy harmonies and self-deprecation from one "with the brains" yet not very smart.

"Everything Seems To Get To Me" is another short catchy gem, the melody and harmony camouflaging the topic matter about a man at his wit's end: These tell-tale signs are flashing / it's dangerous for me to start to think / my head will explode if I don't listen to the static on TV."

There is no drop in quality (or energy) from the first track to the last. The CD closes with "Disconnected," which spotlights the group's knack for nifty harmonies and leaves you wanting more.

David Reid continues to grow as a talented artist, harnessing cultural and musical influences and creating fun, vibrant songs that bathe in a multi-layered jangle of guitars. As stated above, I'm additionally pleased by two other developments: that he's letting his vocals come through more and that the band is tighter than ever.

Fade Back In builds on the promise of the previous two albums from The Contrast, and delivers more of that consistent sonic sound that has become uniquely their own. Arguably their best yet, this solid new collection should become a fast favorite of many for the summer months ahead.

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The Lackloves
The Beat And The Time

(Rainbow Quartz)

Release Date: June 1, 2004

www.lackloves.com

The third time's the charm. That's certainly the case with The Beat And The Time, the third release from Milwaukee, Wisconsin's own The Lackloves. The group shows how it has matured with this collection, taking off in a few new directions while expanding on their signature Britpop-era sounds of the mid-'60s (talking chiming guitars and rich harmonies).

With Mike Jarvis as lead singer/songwriter, The Lackloves have a distinct edge over others who attempt to recreate the great jangle psych pop sounds of yesteryear. For one, Jarvis is a fine songwriter. For another, he has a distinctive voice with that John Lennon-ish rasp to it (come to think of it, he even resembles a young John Lennon some). And now The Lackloves feature the guitar finesse of Don Moore, who adds a whole new dimension to the sound.

Formed in late 1996 after Jarvis ended a five-year stint with The Blow Pops, the band has been through a few personnel changes. This current line-up seems to be the strongest yet, and includes former Blow Pops' bassist and vocalist Jack Rice along with already mentioned master lead guitarist Don Moore, who also adds additional harmony, writing, arranging and producing skills to the overall mix. After three years, drummer Nick Verban has left due to family and career considerations, while Tom Dougherty, the original drummer from the band's formative days, has returned to the fold (with yet more harmonies).

The CD opens with "The Radio's Mine," a song about taking over the airwaves (whose lyrics provide the album's title as well). Commercial radio has been a major disappointment to many, and the idea of The Lackloves gaining control sounds good to me. It's an upbeat start to things, and features a hint of the harmonies and guitar licks yet to come.

"Still Missing You" is more of the new sound for the band, less rooted in the 1960s and more of a modern harmony-rich pleasant pop/rock song (think Posies). Don Moore's leads have almost a Southern rock flair to them at times, giving a new dimension to the song, a lament about a failed past relationship that's still being missed.

However, The Lackloves still are capable of delivering that early Beatles sound. "If Ever I" proves this in a big way, recalling the jazzy flair of the Fab Four's early career ("'Til There Was You," "All I've Got To Do" or "I'll Follow The Sun"). Kudos again to Moore's way with the leads -- here he shows how smooth and effortless he makes them seem.

Another of the more traditional jangle pop tunes here (and radio ready at a mere three minutes) is the sweet ballad "Never Gonna Fall," a fear of falling song driven by delightful guitars and harmonies.

Things take a fun turn for the psychedelic with "Nowhere Near Here," a sonic wash of retro guitar sounds and great three-way harmonies. Moore practically gives a clinic mid-song on psychedelic solos, then the phase shifters kick in. Nice work here as well from Rice and Dougherty, driving the song forward.

"Misfits Collide" shows again how The Lackloves have expanded their sound. The verses feature harmonies, the choruses even more so. Here is a contemplation of a marriage gone wrong: "Echoes of the wedding song / Played in my head / A joyous tune or a dirge / I'm singing alone again."
"The Has Been" is yet another fine song. Jarvis captures the sad tale of a woman deluding herself into remembering better times that never were while currently reduced to pathetic performances: "She loves the way they love her / And she's sure they're speaking of her / In a most sincere, and flattering sort of way."

Having a band full of capable singers enriches a song like "Do You Love Someone?" Sure, it's a pleasant little rocker (co-written by Jarvis and Moore), but when the whole band lets loose singing out the follow-up question "Is it me?" it becomes something more.

The Lackloves take a trip into raucous Lynyrd Skynyrd bar-band territory with "Excuse Me, Use Me," a musical celebration of physical acts uncomplicated by love. Hearing Moore's lead guitar on this one, made me want to hear him do "Freebird" as well.

The handclap-accented "Don't Leave Me Now" is an amiable sunshine-y kind of song with sweet harmonies, etc. However the lyrics (and yes, I realize it's just a pop song) are a little too much June-moon-spoon for me (and it should be "no one to confide in").

"I Could Be" has sort of a country-flavor to it in its plea for straight-talking honesty, again showing more of the new and impressive breadth that The Lackloves display on The Beat And The Time. The band plays well as a unit, and there's a real feeling of cohesion in the studio tracks.

The CD closes with the bittersweet "Know You Now," a ballad about coming to understand and know someone perhaps a little too late in the game.

In short, these twelve songs of The Beat And The Time are a real aural treat, and they get better with repeated listens. The Lackloves have built upon their previous sound, adding yet more harmonies and even more guitar (with truly stellar work from lead guitarist Don Moore). Mike Jarvis remains a fine pop tunesmith, and has that great Lennon-ish voice. If you liked that classic Britpop era sound way back when, chances are you'll enjoy the latest update on those sounds from The Lackloves.

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The Davenports
Hi-Tech Lowlife

(MotherWest)

Release Date: June 8, 2004

www.motherwest.com/thedavenports

Once upon a time there was an obscure band called Smalltown Criers. Among its members were one Chris Collingwood and one Scott Klass. Collingwood has since gone on to achieve a certain level of commercial notoriety and success along with band-mate Adam Schlessinger in Fountains Of Wayne. But don't be quick to discount Klass. His talents are first-rate and, in a just world, popular success also would be forthcoming to him and his current "band" The Davenports.

On Hi-Tech Lowlife, the sophomore release from Klass and The Davenports, there are twelve wonderful songs that trade on infectious melodies and smart lyrics, the kind that stick in your head long after the music stops on your player. Klass has a gift for nuance and hooks, and along with Charles Newman (Flare, The Magnetic Fields), he has produced a tight collection of pretty pop for the ages. Each track is painstakingly constructed for your maximal listening pleasure - from harmonies to intriguing instrumental choices - this is top-notch college art rock, easy on the ears and engaging both heart and mind.

Scott Klass is the driving, multi-tasking creative force behind The Davenports. On this collection, he merely co-produces, writes the songs and provides vocals, guitars, pianos, farfisa and other keys, glockenspiel, percussion, handclaps, kneeslaps and drums. He's joined by the likes of Rob Draghi on drums, Thomas Ward on bass, and Sam McIlvain on lead guitar, along with a host of others on horns, strings and backing vox.

The CD leads with the title track, a short but bouncy little march of a number complete with farfisa organ and strings all about a guy's newfound discovery of his mastery over porn DVDs - a solution for loneliness and then some: "Call me Commander Hi-Tech Lowlife / Embarrassed eyes come and see / It's leaps and bounds for the nights at home without you / A brand new day for me."

"Melissa Now" is the comfy tale of hanging with Lee (playing pool, going to the diner), watching the tube to see that former snotty-nosed camper acquaintance Melissa who now has cameos on TV. The kicker: Lee, believe it or not, knows Melissa now. A great little slice of life tale, perfectly told (with nice slide by Greg Beshers and a great piano coda).

"Eric Grey" is a pleasantly sweet song of solace to one who has put up with a solid week's worth of one hapless Eric Grey: "Are you ok after a week of Eric Grey / His fits and spots left you in knots/ Crying "Where did I go wrong?"" Again, great arrangements, perfectly placed strings and superb harmonies from guests Cheri Leone (Trouble Dolls) and Mark Bacino.

Klass has songs with more hooks than a hanger factory. "You'll Never Know" is yet another of these - with lyrics obtuse enough to be fun to figure. I think it's about the kinds of small hurtful things we say to get a little extra attention (or not): "Without a doubt your grape and gravy / Spilling out with every cut and chew today / Don't walk away - you heard me say / You'll never know me like they do."

The fun keeps coming, this time with a bit of Cars influence thrown into the chorus mix. "Avery Girls" (with its charming fuzz bass lead and odd verse percussion) is about the lovely summer girls that seem to come around Mr. Avery: "In Avery-town, never too brown or crazy / Never away when pints and pools abound." Dan Miller (of They Might Be Giants) guests on lead guitar.

One of my favorites here (and it's hard to choose) is the beguilingly simple "A Deadhead's Lament." Sure, we all wondered what would become of them following Jerry's demise - and here Klass addresses the issue in song, asking the musical questions with a spot of humor and string accompaniment, contemplating a reason to be tomorrow: "Now that he don't play don't know what we'll do tomorrow / This van it reeks of several weeks / Of following you around / I think it may be less ok now that you're underground."

Hi-Tech Lowlife allows The Davenports to show more musical range than on their previous release. For example, there's a horn-driven waltz. "Daisy To Everyone," with a sort of German oompah band accompaniment (Phil Granger on trumpet, Robert Susman on trombones), relates the tale of local gossip and brown-noser Daisy, eager to stay on everyone's good side in spite of causing damage wherever she goes.

The uber-infectious "Everyone's Talking About Baseball" waxes nostalgic about pleasant boyhood memories and the oddball Andy who was a bit of an outsider throughout. Again, the arrangements and production shine, filling spaces with catchy and oft-unlikely instrumental sounds (and nice lead guitar from Sam McIlvain).

Klass ventures a bit into Burt Bacharach territory with "Happy Hour," a drunken apology and plea for yet another second chance from one feeling sorry for himself: "Happy hour, the lager-laughter / You knew before was not what I'm after at all, baby / Say you'll hold my shaky hand tonight."

A redheaded heartthrob actress is the subject of "Annette O'Toole," as Klass' narrator confesses his adoration for the co-star of One on One(with Robby Benson, if memory serves). The real life Ms. O'Toole remains beautiful, now married to actor Michael McKean - and co-penned the grammy nominated song "The Kiss At The End of the Rainbow" (from A Mighty Wind) with her husband.

Love is the main subject in "You're The Only Girl For Me," but life in the West Village is the subtext. When Klass used to live off Perry Street, the transvestite hookers had a bad habit of leaving their soiled condoms on the street. So those are the "bags" referred to here: "Perry boys leave their bags to the breeze / blow up to my window sill full of soil."

The album closes with a bonus track that's not quite holiday-ready, "Whore For The Holidays." This sweet, harmony-laced ditty relates the tale of one who succumbs yearly to the carnal pleasures that follow too many drinks at the office party: "Decorum is for fools / Tied to their cubicles / You know the normal rules no longer apply once Bing Crosby plays."

Hi-Tech Lowlife delivers a dozen great songs and leaves you wanting more. This is subtle power pop at its most pleasant, with lyrics that tell stories askew and arcane. Klass writes melodic confections that seep into your psyche and stay awhile, and does so with wit and intelligence.

I can't see anyone who enjoys Fountains of Wayne not similarly loving the music of The Davenports. Now that one member of the former Smalltown Criers has gone on to achieve a modicum of commercial success, let's hope that Klass and The Davenports are next in line.

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