he name My Computer, besides being the least-effectively Googlable thing imaginable, has the added benefit of conjuring up basically nothing. Or rather, what the name implies is maybe the most quotidian thing in the contemporary world: the thing you're looking at right now, and, if you're using Windows, what your operating system calls the thing by default. It's the sort of name that would invariably lead to comedy in the vein of "Who's on first?":

YOU: What are you listening to?
ME: My Computer.
YOU: Yeah, I know that, but what band is it?

The Manc duo—with the equally default-style names of Andy Chester and Dave Luke—released a lovely synth-tastic debut called Vulnerabilia in 2002, and caught the attention of Brit-rags everywhere with their lush arrangements and beat-happy pop energy. This Computer was OK, and, to extend the Radiohead metaphor, it could make an easy in for people who wanted, theoretically, to like Kid A, but found it too cold or weird in practice. To keep it going, for this new one, they've brought in John Leckie (The Bends) to produce. Except, instead of going completely Radiohead, they've made a transformation into eclectic, many-tentacled, multi-instrumentated odd-rock. In other words, they now bear more than a passing resemblance to late-period Super Furry Animals, and while they've gained a more eclectic and varied style by the comparison, they've lost more than a little bit of what made their debut so accessibly singular.

In fact, the first four tracks here could easily slot into Guerilla, Rings Around the World, or Phantom Power. They begin with loud distorted guitars and low-mixed screaming in lead-off single "Lonely," probably signaling a wild change in direction, but underneath all that, um, "rage," those same, simple melodies pulse on, just barely concealed. In essence, it sounds a lot like "Do or Die." "Dig a Hole" brings an electronic shuffle beat, lots of circuitous frippery (or Frippery), and a backwards-spinning portion at the end that utilizes almost the same vocoder patch that Gruff used on "Juxtaposed With U." "Life" follows, a simple little ballad that thinks about bringing in some serious power at the end before losing confidence. Probably something to do with the chorus: "Life is just a series of keeping things to yourself." Uh, yeah.

Chester then spends a minute explaining to us when and where to place the trumpets should we ever decide to make some music ourselves, which introduces "The Boy I Used To Be," one of the album's two real highlights and, not coincidentally, one of the two lengthy bohemian rhapsodies to be found here. It begins with a light martial fanfare, and cheesy synth-strings and horns before Chester repeats, by way of a chorus, "fuck you," with a sweetness and lightness generally reserved for communications with the elderly. Then the "strings" and "horns" reach a drum-machine aided crescendo—one of several here—and, by song's end, we're sent skyward on the aid of an ascending synthesizer lead, coruscating guitar noise, and an increasingly John-Williams-ized "string" arrangement. Yes, it's better than that sounds.

The nine-plus minute "Pulling Myself Together" begins as a simple little acoustic-guitar led ditty before being fed some digital crockery, which spins itself around the lead in loose, broken shards. The song soon bridges into a piano lead and a lengthy section that resembles, in the best possible way, Moby’s version of the James Bond theme. Those two tracks point to a My Computer that revels in its meticulous constructions, and finds immense joy in recasting the delirious, the defamed, and the cheesy into new, space-bound forms. As with many albums released nowadays, No CVwould have made a wonderful EP.