The Fever

As In the City of Sleep pompously begins with its Danny Elfman Oingo Boingo meets Screamin’ Jay Hawkins 50’s rock-blues pattern, it looks like we are going to be in for an exciting 16 track ride that’s unlike most of the other new wave-indie bands that have sprung up for the last few years. And for a while, our expectations are met as we glee with dark joy over the dramatic, dark, and clever Nick Cave-esque lyrics. The dramatic macabre melancholy recalls walking though New Orleans’ French Quarter during Mardi Gras or strolling through a foggy graveyard at midnight where anything can happen. Only problem is that ghoulishness is missing during the home stretch as The Fever leans toward their garage-rock roots and lose the imagination that made the first half so compelling. The album remains showy throughout, but its unevenness doesn’t make the listener want to reside in this City of Sleep for very long.