Superchunk / Indoor Living by Jo Ben Whittenburg courtesy Merge Records You've got to hand it to Mac McCaughan and Co. -- they've come a long way, baby. From the anxious energy of early singles like the classic "Slack Motherfucker" to the maturity and confidence present in their most recent releases, the band's music has progressed nicely over the years. Their latest effort, Indoor Living, displays material in much the same vein as 1995's Here's Where the Strings Come In, continuing a gradual refinement of the band's post-punk approach to rock. Such refinement includes additional instrumentation (the occasional keyboard and even a xylophone [!] at one point), pumped-up vocals, and layers upon layers of guitars from McCaughan and fellow axe-mate Jim Wilbur. While these changes by no means stifle the vitality of the band's sound completely, one could argue that greater attention should have been paid to the songs themselves. Indeed, the album as a whole is less a departure from the Superchunk we all know and love than an uneven collection of material from a band still trying to stay fresh. Be that as it may, Indoor Living starts off with a roar that sustains through the stronger moments on the album. The relentless pounding of Jon Wurster's drums ushers in "Unbelievable Things," a song reminiscent of 1993's Foolish, perhaps the finest moment in the band's lengthy career. Unlike that album, though, Mac McCaughan's vocals are actually audible, even prominent thanks to the magic of studio overdubs. No amount of polishing can diminish the strength of this opening track, as well as its follow-up, "Burn Last Sunday," which ranks among their finest anthems, chock-full of inspiring hooks and hopes to "buy us back some time." As the album unfolds further, however, the holes in its fabric become more apparent, many of them due simply to the sub-par songs the band has to work with. In addition to the added instrumental flourish, odd transitions and time signatures abound throughout many of the songs, yet neither compensates for the sheer banality of numbers like "Nu Bruises" (a ridiculous "We're still punk" retread) and "Martinis on the Roof." Lyrically, McCaughan has never aspired to create more than a vaguely recognizable portrait of post-adolescent life and loving. Indoor Living's title might suggest a more mature appeal for fans both old and new, but it suffers from much of the singer's same old confusion and uncertainty in its overall message. Several songs feature just too many words and/or images stuffed into one verse, especially considering the lack of meaning that is often encountered ("just let me kiss your watery hands"). Still, all of this may or may not affect the casual listener; the album does at times rock, and the stylistic departures on it should not deter long-time fans from picking up a copy. If anything, Superchunk's sound today is inevitably more inviting than anything like "Slack Motherfucker." However, one might wonder if the developed sound the band now showcases could use more songs of the same caliber -- and how different an album like Indoor Living would be if it did.

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