Elastica

For about six minutes of The Menace, Elastica remains faithful to the formula perfected on its platinum self-titled 1995 debut, matching singer Justine Frischmann’s snarling delivery with a gentler female voice and choppy riffs. True, the other voice no longer belongs to since-departed guitarist Donna Matthews, and rudimentary electronic beats now simmer below the edgy power pop, but the style remains recognizable, even if the hooks aren’t quite as immediate. However, the lo-fi keyboard intro to the album’s third track, “How He Wrote Elastica Man,” sends the group into unfamiliar territory — and the rest of the record occasionally slows to a near crawl, mutes Frischmann’s voice to a whisper, introduces eventual rockers with electronic bleeps, and layers acoustic guitars over screeching feedback.

It’s tempting to attribute this experimentation to newfound maturity, but a closer inspection of The Menace suggests otherwise. Whether the band is giddily spelling out its name (Elastica’s “e” is for “extra special,” its “t” for “take that”), goofily declaring Your arse, my place, or cheerfully covering Trio’s “Da Da Da” (interviews with Elastica have revealed that the English group was amusingly unaware of that song’s Volkswagen-commercial renaissance), it seems to have spent its time off getting in touch with its inner Go-Go’s. As a result, the album remains a fun listen despite a relative paucity of catchy, hummable tunes. And when the members of the group aren’t crafting perky juvenalia, they’re venturing to the other side of the spectrum, making slow-building songs with breathy vocals and low-key melodies. But Elastica doesn’t mold its more subtle material into commercially viable ballads — these sparse efforts are complex and not especially accessible. As a result, The Menace might not make a connection with the group’s long-waiting, pop-craving fans.