Clap your hands say 'meh'

If there's one lesson to take away from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's second album, Some Loud Thunder (out Jan. 30), it's this: Ambition is a fine thing, but ambition alone is not enough. Indeed, for those of us who love out-of-the-mainstream music, it could serve as an aesthetic test: Can we distinguish complexity from quality? Can we tell the difference between something that's difficult-but-rewarding and something that's simply difficult?\nIn recounting the indie-Cinderella tale surrounding CYHSY's debut album -- "unsigned band catapulted to success by Web-based tastemakers" -- not enough credit is given to the actual quality of the band's songs. Sure, it was a neat example of how Internet buzz can translate into sales, but it never would have happened if the album itself (save the irritating opening track) hadn't been terrific fun. The hook-filled instrumentals rung out and shuffled and charged, while singer Alec Ounsworth's unique love-it-or-hate-it nasal yelp managed "the Michael Stipe thing," unleashing cryptic but intriguing lyrics. The result was uncompromising, but deeply fulfilling to those who "got it."\nSome Loud Thunder, on the other hand, is mostly just uncompromising. On first hearing the album, those without adventurous tastes (or who aren't already CYHSY fans) will likely retreat in horror at what sounds like a discordant mess. For those few who stick around: Sure, it gets better with multiple listens. Buried under a layer of distortion so heavy as to make it sound like a bootleg on its 1,000th reproduction, opening and title-track "Some Loud Thunder" could otherwise have fit on the debut album. With its hell-as-dance-club motif, "Satan Said Dance" has a neat concept (although its lack of compelling beats or hooks undercuts ol' Beezlebub's command). And careful listening (with a good pair of headphones) will allow you to pick out all sorts of interesting little tidbits buried throughout. Repeat this practice enough, and you'll find that many tracks are all right -- but that's the problem, they're just all right. "Emily Jean Stock," "Mama, Won't You Keep Those Castles In The Air & Burning," "Goodbye To The Mother & The Cover," "Yankee Go Home" all slowly reveal their merits, but there are no grand revelations, no sublime moments, no overarching purpose to the madness. It's an awful lot of work for an album that turns out to be, ultimately, kind of boring -- and, really, life's too short.