Clearlake

Clearlake receives an infinitesimal percentage of fellow British import Coldplay’s publicity, and it seldom even appears in American magazines’ dismissive lists of U.K. also-rans (South, Elbow and, until recently, Muse). It’s a curious plight for a group that, three albums and a couple of EPs into its career, has yet to release a song that rates below “pretty great.” Then again, it’s never hit the “excellent” mark. Clearlake fails to register because consistent quality — without gestures grandiose, enigmatic or transcendent — gets taken for granted.

Amber‘s tracks divide into four distinct categories. The poppiest tracks address being finally free and having good clean fun. These are happy-sounding songs about happiness, with giddily propulsive backbeats and psychedelic harmonies. The gloomy numbers deal in monochromatic melancholy. Singer Jason Pegg wistfully stretches the line I think about you every single day, backed with piano plinks, morose strings and percussion that sounds like a train crawling away from its station. Pegg’s petulant fits, characterized by hard-stomping drums and lines such as I hate it that I got what I wanted/’Cause I don’t want it anymore hint at snotty punk. The other cuts are blues-based rockers on which noisy riffs spar with blaring harmonica blasts and screeching solos.

Barring unlikely radio play, Clearlake needs its tunes to appear in ads or on soundtracks to boost its profile, and the group’s latest material is uniquely qualified for such jobs. With every song an uncannily exact match for some stop on the emotional spectrum, Amber could end up with a placement rate that rivals Ivy League institutions.