Mates of State
Our Constant Concern
Polyvinyl Records

A history of do-it-yourself pop music prizes energy and inspiration over traditional values like professionalism and technical expertise. It flows from the alternate-universe sounds of the Shaggs through some of the more ragged, less brutal punk of the '70s into the goofy, groundbreaking sounds of Beat Happening.

Mates of State represents the 2002 landmark on this lineage. The group's combination of rough edges, endearingly cheesy Casiotones and enthusiastically earnest singing is the best kind of amateurism. This is the sound of the smart girl next door who never fully resented the piano lessons of her adolescence taking her show on the road with the aid of her husband, the band geek made good.

That description, however accurate, sells short the group's skill. The musicianship the Mates present on record certainly is adequate. Keyboardist Kori Gardner's appealing voice often recalls Harriet Wheeler of the Sundays, and drummer Jason Hammell's thin yelp works just right in the harmonies and counterpoint formulations that are also the duo's trademark.

Nonetheless, there is something at once rough hewn, fresh and perfectly charming about the Mates' music. Fans who were converted by stops from their constant touring and thrilled at their sparkling 2000 debut My Solo Project would certainly claim as much.

On sophomore release Our Constant Concern, the Mates of State essentially produce a batch of songs in the same vein as My Solo Project, and the verdict is success. As Gardner and Hammell sing competing texts before leading into a big chorus of "Is that the same charm/ from way back when?" on opener "Hoarding it for Home," their own charm is abundant and intact. The momentum continues through "Ten Years Later," where they declare, "I'm trying to be someone else," and climax rather gently with "You're never around."

The song formats are refreshingly open ended, with some songs accommodating multiple choruses. On "Uber Legitimate" they pull a neat trick on a standard waltz beat and move the emphasis to the three. The garage-y feel of the opening riff on "I Know and I said Forget It" is reminiscent of Sarah Dougher-Corin Tucker collaboration Cadallaca, after which the band settles into a laid-back almost reggae verse.

It's easier to lose interest in the Mates' less energetic numbers, such as ballad "Girls Singing." By the same token, the rather oblique "Quit Doin' It" displays the way slower song sections can provide some variation and contrast to the faster parts and create a welcome dynamic feel.

"Halves and Have-nots" most blatantly plays on the idea of the couple airing their marital tensions through song with its refrain of "I know you're not playing around/ but I know you will." This same song contains the albums weakest moment, when the multi-tracked vocals and overly precious delivery during one portion of the song recalls some sort of "Up With People" chorus or something off Kidz Bop.

Even with a few such dead spots, there are ample highlights to make Our Constant Concern recommendable to adherents of the inspired amateurism to which these Mates are heir. The road ahead for the duo may be rocky, since exercises like this tend to lose momentum over time — bands usually either revisit the same territory to diminishing returns or branch out to things they never do as well as the first time around. But, as of this album, the Mates are still a blissful distance from that fork in the road.

— Wayne Lewis (capsighs@pacbell.net)