From 1998 to 2004, Alkaline Trio was the best pop-punk band in the world. This is a fact. They did only one thing – springy, melodic songs with rubbery bass-lines, lots of chunky palm-muted riffs, and dark, soul-searching lyrics – but they did it awesomely. And then they started to do other things (play around with keyboards and synthesizers, let the drummer write songs, get married and become happy with their personal lives) and, suddenly, everything changed. They were still a good band, but Crimson (2005) and Agony & Irony (2008) are nobody’s favorite Alkaline Trio albums. They’re melodic and musically accomplished in ways that displayed “growth” and “maturity,” but they also felt somewhat forced lyrically, with singer/guitarist Matt Skiba relying increasingly on cliched and clumsy metaphors as his songwriting got less personal. The dudes (bassist/singer Dan Andriano and drummer Derek Grant, plus Skiba) scattered across the country and started doing aging rocker stuff like “surfing” and “having kids.” But about a year ago, everything started to change again: the guys started hanging out in Chicago more, they talked about “returning to their roots,” Skiba got divorced. All of this could mean only thing: COMEBACK! So, the first question: Is This Addiction a return to their glory days? Does it accomplish very much with, musically, very little? Is it superficially evil for fun with genuinely heavy emotional content for serious? Can it explode a unicorn’s boner in a great blast of pink stars and fairy dust?

Short answer: No, yes, sort of, and maybe.

Long answer: This Addiction doesn’t sound like Goddamnit, Alkaline Trio’s much-ballyhooed, now classic first full-length. And that’s going to disappoint some people, because some people are always disappointed that the band evolved from being a bunch of drunk-ass nineteen year-olds. And some people, like me, will never be entirely happy without Glenn Porter in the line-up; Derek Grant has always struck me as a weird fit for the Trio, and a lot of folks, myself included, hold him almost entirely responsible for trying to push the band in artistic directions they weren’t quite skilled enough to master. The Trio that most of us first fell in love with is never coming back, but that’s been true for years – we should all be used to it by now. Matt Skiba is never going to describe our emotions with profane, pin-point accuracy the way he did on “Radio,” and Dan Andriano will never be sad again, apparently. But This Addiction is a sharp, punchy addition to the band’s catalog. They don’t try anything they haven’t already mastered, but it’s an absolute joy to hear them doing these things that they are very, very good at.

The album kicks off with three fast, hard-charging tracks that all sound like they should have been b-sides. I say this is as a compliment; over the last couple years, all the best Trio songs have been ones that didn’t actually make it on to their records. “This Addiction” begins the record on an extremely high note – racing tempos, a bright melody, uncomplicated lyrics that equate love with, um, addiction in a way that’s not necessarily novel but still brutally effective. And then Dan Andriano gives the best vocal performance of the entire disc on “Dine, Dine My Darling,” daring to make a Misfits joke on a song that celebrates (once again) domestic bliss. “Lead Poisoning” features Skiba’s trademark “dun…dun-nun-nuh” riffing, but it sounds good, like hanging out with an old friend. Plus, a simple, cool saxophone solo sets the track apart from the roughly twenty-five others almost exactly like it in the band’s catalog. Things take a bad turn after that, though – “Dead On The Floor” cannibalizes both “Trouble Breathing” and “San Francisco” (from Goddamnit) and stops the album’s momentum in a tired and unforgivable fashion.

It gets somewhat hit-or-miss after that. “The American Scream,” the token political track, isn’t bad, but its central metaphor is a little corny. “Draculina,” “Eating Me Alive,” and “Piss & Vinegar” are a little too mid-tempo and interchangeable to run in a row, and they bog down the middle of the record. But This Addiction finishes stronger than any Trio record in recent memory: “Dorothy” blasts out of the speakers in an explosion of double-time drumming and eerie David Lynch references, by far the most exciting song Skiba’s written in six years. And “Fine,” Andriano’s gentle closer, is a tearjerker that builds to epic status without over-reaching. Maybe the songs in the middle only feel like filler because they’re book-ended by such powerful material; in any event, I ain’t complaining. This is definitely the best Trio record since Good Mourning, and it might end up ranking along with Maybe I’ll Catch Fire and From Here To Infirmary when all is said and done.

Let’s face it – these guys are getting older, and they can’t do this forever. But This Addiction is an excellent, full-bodied reminder of why we started loving them in the first place, and if they never made another record, their legacy would be secure. This is the way you grow up – not with intricate piano parts or relentless overdubs, but by knowing who you are and what you do, and then doing it the best you know how. I’m glad Alkaline Trio are doing their one thing again, and doing it perfectly.  

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A lot of people got excited when Led Zeppelin (kinda) reformed last year to play a benefit show. I didn’t. There’s nothing to be gained from a full Zep reunion – their catalog is almost flawless, and their legacy speaks for itself. Them Crooked Vultures, on the other hand, is a much more enticing proposition. Dave Grohl, the closest our generation has to a Bonham, teams up with super-charismatic Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Hamme and Zeppelin’s own secret weapon, John Paul Jones: this isn’t a supergroup, it’s a dream team.

Of course there’s always the possibility of this turning into some newfangled version of Damn Yankees (see: Audioslave), but I’m happy to report that Them Crooked Vultures’ self-titled debut is an awesome and essential slab of prime swamp rock. The reliably magnetic Homme has pulled Grohl and Jones deep into his scuzzy orbit; the record could easily pass for a new QOTSA disc, except it’s head-and-shoulders above everything those guys have done since Rated R. The twist is provided by Jones, who supplies his usual variety of textures and tones and lends the album a dynamic variety that makes it, even at a somewhat mellow-harshing seventy minutes, compulsively listenable throughout.

The basic format here is established right away: opener “Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I” showcases everything that makes this band special: Grohl’s thundering fills, Jones’s background flourishes, Homme’s clever double entendres (“Don’t hold it against me / Unless it gets hard”). And the album steamrolls forward from there; most of the tracks settle in for five or six minutes, building atmosphere with circular, repetitive riffs and hypnotic rhythms. You probably won’t find a better record to simply get high and zone out to this year, but there’s some straight fun on offer too. “Bandoliers” and “Elephants” both take lumbering, Page-y riffs and slow them down to a crawl before exploding into righteous fury and then settling back down again; “New Fang” and “Mind Eraser, No Chaser” are pure punk blasts with delightfully sweet chorus melodies.

If you’re looking for a shot of Zep, “Scumbag Blues” would fit nicely on the first half of Presence, and “Reptiles” sounds like a sequel to “Trampled Under Foot.” Foo Fighters fans might be disappointed – Grohl doesn’t get any mic time – but people who still like getting blitzed and playing In Utero at full volume can really rejoice. Dude still has a special gift for running his shit and making it look easy; he drives every song here, probably with a grin on his face. And Homme is in especially fine form, too – his playing is creative and varied, with slinky, seductive lines giving way to master-blaster power chords giving way to masterful solos giving way to psychedelic freak-outs. Them Crooked Vultures always feel one step away from the edge – there’s just so damn much of it. But these guys earn the run time, building atmosphere and then blowing holes through it.

You already know if this is your cup of tea; all three personalities here are well-defined brands at this point, and the combustion that results when they’re in the same room should come as no surprise. The only real shocker here is how damn good these songs are. None of the thirteen tracks sound like leftovers, and spontaneity and song-craft carry equal weight. The musical touchstones are obvious, but here’s a visual: think about the astral ballet near the beginning of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001, with the massive spaceships gliding around, huge but still dwarfed by cold, dark space. Listening to this record, you start to get an idea of how those astronauts inside feel.