Cage the Elephant Thank You, Happy Birthday

Ah, the dreaded sophomore album.  So feared that industry insiders have labeled the most common occurrence for the second go-around as the sophomore slump.  That essentially translates to mean that no matter the act, most people have the automatic assumption that the second record will no doubt be a huge disappointment.  In fact, it's assumed that the more impressive the first LP, the larger the crater made after the second LP's disastrous fall to Earth will be.  All this is completely applicable and obscenely inaccurate regarding the sophomore effort from Cage the Elephant, Thank You, Happy Birthday.  Thing is, though, them Kentucky boys couldn't care less.   

For 2008's self-titled debut, the boys of Cage the Elephant offered up a sound reared on some kind of moonshine-esque process of music distillation, where they took bits of punk, chunks of southern rock, and their own Bible Belt upbringing and made a furious effort that was sung on high with hits like Ain't No Rest for the Wicked and Back Against the Wall. That first record could be described as one containing a particular glow courtesy of their upbringing, a relatable energy that they'd grown up with their whole life.  Fans might find that the second offering lacks that kind of energy, whereas the influences of the Pixies and Butthole Surfers abound throughout this LP.  The songs aren't bad, but they definitely lack some of that instantaneous appeal from record No. 1.

If anything, the whole second album is a lot like Tiny Little Robots, one of my most beloved tracks from that record for wholly personal reasons: it's lacking focus, blasting forward with the energy of a sugar-addled pre-teen who found his dad's old Dinosaur Jr. vinyls.  The album is a clear and distinct reaction to their first album.  If fans and critics didn't think they had the guts to punch and kick the world into submission, then they'd show them all with this one right here.  Indy Kidz, in particular, is that irk-factor turned to 11, a noisy, surf rock-esque good time blasting our lazy, judgmental generation for their bad attitude.  For a supposed mocking tone, however, singer Matt Shultz does an amazing job of mimicking the hipster/indie elitists of the world.  Japanese Buffalo (and to a lesser extent Aberdeen) as well furthers their intentions to tear away at everyone's preconceived notions.  As if some mutant Nirvana hybrid, it flows from melodramatic twang to guitar-noise lovefest rather readily, always embracing its jumbled nature.  These tracks stand as pinnacles of their new worldview and as clear examples that even minor tweaks in sound can have band-altering consequences, for better or for worse.

Changes aside, the band still know how to make damn fine rock and roll songs. Album opener Always Something, despite some of the semi-annoying junk noise of the beginning and the general cheesy invoking of bad James Bond themes, is akin to the hits from their first album and more of the neo-punk prophetic storytelling of Ain't No Rest for the Wicked.  Right Before My Eyes is a lot more cutesy, but also a lot more straightforward.  It's concise and rocking, with a catchy chorus that displays a band at their most basic and appealing doing without hooks and gimmicks.  But of most of the offerings on this record, Flow may well be the most interesting.  Most assuredly not the best track, at some eight minutes long it sees the band experimenting, stretching and lengthening their normal operating space, making a, gasp, semi-mature track of an even keel, with a big rambling feel that still adheres to the geeky punk ethos with some marble-mouthed vocals.  These feel more at the pace CTE should be striving toward and are still adventurous enough to show the much-needed growth every sophomore record has to have.  

Is this record the cure to the ails that is the sophomore LP?  Yes and no.  Yes, it's new and fresh and spilling over with more of their unique brand of high-energy rock; no, as there's some missteps and growth is often traded out for immature jabs.  However, either way you look at it, there's no way this record is falling into the bin of apathy other acts have with record No. 2.