The Shins - Wincing the Night Away

Matching the instant-classic Oh, Inverted World with the deeper waters of Chutes Too Narrow seemed a fair test of lead Shin James Mercer’s mettle, and anyone with at least a passing affection for well-conceived indie-pop (or a fondness for that putz from Scrubs) has thus set the bar insurmountably high for Wincing the Night Away. But compartmentalizing all expectations doesn’t diffuse the fray from the latest record, The Shins’ sonically ambitious but creatively limp third go-‘round. It took about five spins of Wincing the Night Away to realize that I wasn’t paying attention to a lick of it; five more to realize how little there was to pay attention to. Apart from the sprightly engaging “Australia,” Wincing is marred by its middle-tempos, devoid of the tender turnarounds of the band’s crowning glories. Mercer’s melodic modus operandi remains his own, but in keeping his vision clear, he’s doubled-back on himself. Indeed, lead single “Phantom Limb” is all reverb and Ronettes drums and little else worth noting until “Turn On Me” pulls the same punch only a few songs later. Mercer reaches back, too, as “Red Rabbits” all but nicks the melody from “Young Pilgrims,” and “Girl Sailor” makes a whole song of the bridge of “Know Your Onion!” There are shades to the sonics here unseen on either previous long-player, and more than anything, Wincing makes the case for The Shins-as-musical force, not merely James Mercer’s touring band. But in upshifting nuance, unconvincing keyboard solos and all, they’ve downshifted songcraft. Mercer’s once-genial lyrical bookishness has plunked itself in front of the reference desk, as certain overreaching lines—heck, whole verses—smack more of Colin Meloy’s cloying thesaurus-thumbing than his mindful poetic backbends of old. Props are nevertheless owed for making no apparent attempt to yet again pen a life-changing scene-stealer, but perhaps it was sidestepping potential cries of sellout that lead to the record’s hooks that just won’t hook and lines that don’t catch. No matter the cause, there’s just nothing here as ebullient as “Pressed in a Book,” as ravishing as “Those to Come,” as immaculate as “Girl Inform Me.” One only hopes Wincing, a pleasant if troubling misstep from indie pop’s once-brightest lights, doesn’t mean all that promise is already realized. [www.subpop.com]