Album Review: In The City Of Sleep

The Fever arrived fashionably late to the dance-punk scene of 2002. So late, in fact, that their debut album, Red Bedroom, wasn't released until 2004. Unfortunately, by the time they got here, we'd all had enough of the likes of Hot Hot Heat and Electric Six, and the New York five-piece never quite received the plaudits that their brand of jerky, danceable, proto-punk deserved.

For a band whose debut album was most notable for the wailing vocals of their singer, opener, Curtains - a mid-paced instrumental - is somewhat of a curveball. While it's the only track without lyrics, Curtains is merely the first indication that singer Geremy Jasper is no longer the focal point of the band. Where Jasper's temperamental and bratty vocals catapulted over his band mates instrumentation throughout their debut, on In The City Of Sleep, his voice is buried much lower in the mix. It's a brave move, and ultimately a successful one, as it allows the crashing drum beats and elastic bass to come to the fore.

The new approach has also given The Fever the willingness to experiment; while their debt was straight-up dance-punk from start to finish, there's a great deal of invention to be found on In The City Of Sleep. Waiting For The Centipede is a bizarre proposition that encompasses elements of vaudeville and barbershop, Crying Wolf begins like a Fellini circus tune but ends up sounding like London Calling-era Clash, while the beautiful Magnus sounds like a Dennis Wilson lullaby. Later, the band successfully employ a glockenspiel on Do The Tramp and embrace the menacing weirdness of The Butthole Surfers on Eyes On The Road.

Jasper, however, refuses to remain in the background for the album's entirety, but with sixteen tracks, there's more than enough room for him to provide some old fashioned rock posturing. The Secret is probably Jasper and the band's finest moment, but the Little Lamb & The Shiny Silver Bullets, Mr. Baby and Hotel Fantom prove that there's ample skill behind their strut.