he work week oozes forward like so much molasses in a New England January. Staring blankly at your watch won't help; it's not Friday and it won't be for a bit longer, I'm afraid. So, moving on. . . the album we'll be dissecting on this lovely non-Friday is Spoon's A Series of Sneaks, which, for those who don't know, originally came out four years ago on Elektra. And being, as I've mentioned twice already, that today isn't Stylus's classic-review day, you're not allowed to automatically assume that we've branded Sneaks with the Stylus seal of superlativeness. Well I don't know about the rest of the staffers, but when I first heard this album I hit the ground hard, truly believing that the disembodied, itinerant spirit of the Pixies had finally found a suitable host in three guys from Austin, TX.


It's not that Sneaks sounds all that much like the Pixies per se, which it does at times, but that the unbridled drive to recast classic sounds with deconstructive calculation burns brazenly in both bands' music. Unexpected production touches like the echoey percussion hits following "Utilitarian"'s first chorus reveal that Spoon are more interested in fucking with formulas than following them. I'm not implying that these guys don't make use of sonic shibboleths such as staccato guitar chords on 4/4 downbeats, punkish 3-chord patterns, handclaps and some well-placed feedback, but as most of y'all already know, even the most hackneyed of tropes can be made sublime in the hands of someone who knows what he's doing.


And Britt Daniel does. Spoon's chief executive songwriter draws mostly from the timeless musical arsenals of Elvis Costello (esp. This Year's Model), Big Star, Bob Pollard as well as the significantly harsher Gang of Four, and actually manages to craft tunes of the same caliber as his influences. "The Minor Tough" sets a pensively throbbing bassline against Andy Gill-ish guitar shards and subtle organ undertones, plus it shows off two of Daniel's favorite devices: short passages of 7/4 time and gobs of stuttering tremolo guitar. Shit gets further fucked up on "The Guestlist/The Execution", largely due to those classy mid-chorus drum interludes, not to mention the fact that the song's catchy as hell.


Short, too-- Daniel obviously learned the value of brevity well from Pollard, because "30 Gallon Tank" is the only tune that cracks four minutes (and just barely at that). However, while people love to hate on Bob for his frustratingly incomplete "song fragments", Spoon knows how to start, develop and finish a coherent musical thought in an incredibly short period of time. Take "Car Radio"-- 90 seconds long and an album highlight, with three chords and a cocksure stuttered rawk chorus it was lodged in my brain for weeks after I first heard it. Unlike half of Alien Lanes, I never felt shortchanged after listening to it (half the time, I'd just play it again). The 54-second "Staring at the Board" proves that the soul of Spoon's wit was no fluke, because under its drunken demotape veneer lurks an undeniable pop charm that'd fill out the last minute of a mix CD just fine.


As instantly identifiable as Spoon's influences are, you'll never mistake their music for anyone else's, and that's due in no small part to Daniel's distinctive vocals. He pulls off the traditional hi-range indie croon in tunes like "Metal School", but can also deepen his voice when the music dictates, as it does on album closer "Advance Cassette". Most post-punks prefer to (or, if you like, can't help but) stay within the same mid-high octave and a half, so it's nice to hear some depth worked successfully into an indie context. Lyrically Daniel's a rolling stone, constantly going on about highways, cars, and other forms and auxiliaries of travel. Nothing groundbreaking, but personally I dig the line "Car radio/It's what I got/Voice of authority from here until Empire State".


And so it goes. A Series of Sneaks is in a word, stunning, the product of a guy that's done his musical homework exceedingly well, learned the craft inside-out and brought his own indelible mark to the pantheon of great post-punk songwriters. After Elektra axed Spoon, they headed for my neck of the woods to sign with Merge and released the far more restrained Girls Can Tell, which smoothed out Sneaks' lovable edges for a more accessible, less confrontational sound. While that record's certainly got its charms, as well as its die-hard backers, I don't know that Spoon will ever be able to surpass the raw reinvention of this, their finest record. All praise due to Merge for having the magnanimity to let new fans in on the quality.