Jackpot
Shiny Things
Surf Dog Records

Within the microcosm of mainstream rock, California's capital is known primarily for exporting meat-and-potatoes rockers Tesla, caustic ironists Cake and nouveau-metal darlings the Deftones. Within its boundaries, however, Sacramento boasts one of the most vigorously groomed local music communities in the state. It's a environment that has elevated many of its artists to various levels of internal celebrity status, though it's perhaps occasionally guilty of patting itself on its own self-conscious back.

Jackpot has managed to stake a vital place for itself in "the scene" while dodging many of its ugly aspects. Most importantly, the band has reserved the right to remain tastefully eclectic, letting the starkest elements of country, funk and roots rock infuse its sound. Shiny Things, the group's fourth release, is easily its most polished effort to date, a smartly produced affair on which the group flirts with pop conventions while struggling to preserve its charm. The album attempts to offer up everything Jackpot, with mixed results.

Though his raspy twang often recalls Wilco's Jeff Tweedy, Jackpot singer-guitarist Rusty Miller has always proved a closer relative to former Pavement mastermind Stephen Malkmus. Both are stellar but consciously angular guitarists who rarely are done in by the clichéd licks they so adore. But whereas Malkmus likely could rattle off several synonyms for "thesaurus," Miller is a strict lyrical populist. You know Rusty: He's that guy getting all poetic over a 40-ouncer on the back porch. Clumsily cryptic and charmingly lowbrow at the same time, his delivery betrays a sloppiness that's more calculated than initially apparent. Although Shiny Things certainly echoes past triumphs, the record finds him straying somewhat from the woozy ballads and delightful garage-funk of yesteryear. Coincidence or not, having been granted the capacity for expanded arrangements and slicker production, Miller's lyrical bite seems to have been somewhat forsaken for accessibility.

The record opens startlingly with "Far, Far, Far," a harrowing narrative that evokes Del Shannon, had he penned his paranoid teenage sagas a decade later. The song serves as an urgent invitation to embark on some inexplicable journey, but it's almost too much too soon. The intensity essentially ends there, and from this point forth the record's mood turns erratic, if not simply manic. As on earlier records, romantic themes prevail, but on Shiny Things they vary wildly. "Sometimes" yearns breezily, sadly supplying the only trace of country to be found here. The two closing tracks — the psychedelic, semi-Eastern "Big House" and the piano dirge "Bring On The Chimes" — reinstate the eerie imagery of "Far, Far, Far," but are by and large pleasant forays into the ambiguous.

Even the playful dissonance which lies at the heart of Jackpot's sleazy rock leanings is virtually absent until the middle of the album. Longtime crowd-pleaser "Tattoos" suffers a touch from excessive overdubs, but its questionably fictional account of a ubiquitous groupie nicely conjures up the underbelly of Sacramento culture: "Well, she came and she went/ it was no coincidence/ she was one of those chicks who rides on the river." The obligatory funk of "Throw Away Your Misery" boasts an R&B vocal sample, but it is certainly no "Dance All Night." A remake of "Fleas On The Tail Of Time," originally released on 1998's Boneville, is degraded by a cluttered arrangement of synth noise and muted trumpets. For a band known for delivering multiple AC/DC covers (and if you're lucky, "Working For The Weekend") in one show, they've definitely sewn up their frayed ends as they throw themselves out to an ever-widening audience.

Yet while the band's familiar territory seems a bit smoothed over, the group nearly breaks even by bringing forth a more contemporary brand of mid-tempo pop. "Psycho Ballerina" is glaringly radio friendly, but the song's gorgeous multi-tracked harmonies eclipse its lightweight feel. "Pennies" and "Sideways," the album's finest moments, seethe with lovesick anxiety and boast some of Miller's most sincere melodic invention to date.

Jackpot's previous effort, Weightless, brimmed with loosely executed ballads awash in bleary-eyed romanticism, taking the occasional opportunity to rock just for good measure. Miller approached the trials of love from dreamy, yet nervous, perspectives that examined the limitations of romantic innocence, and the struggle to make sense of such humility as the sterility of adulthood creeps in. If anything, Shiny Things finds Jackpot defining itself for the first time as a cohesive unit rather than a songwriting outlet, leaving their eclecticism thankfully intact.

— Matthew Pendleton (mcpendleton at hotmail dot com)