Reviews:

Two things about Year of the Rabbit are certain: 1.Leader Ken Andrews is a compelling, if uneven, songwriter. 2. He can produce thehell out of a record.

No news there; the singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalistfirst displayed his console mettle nearly a decade back, when he was frontingFailure. Magnified and Fantastic Planet, two deliciously Byzantine thickets ofAndrews-produced post-grunge finesse, certainly didn't make anyone rich, but theydid prove Andrews to be the kind of producer who could bedizen even the leastof his creations to the point where they glittered like a weekend in Vegas.

Beginner'sluck it wasn't. And Year of the Rabbit leaves the impression that he's been savingthe best tricks learned in the course of producing the likes of Creeper Lagoon,Pete Yorn, and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club for himself and his band. Andrews replacesFailure's filigree with a thick coat of fiery fur, maintaining maximum densitysimply by letting the natural bigness of the highly capable quartet's sound burnthrough. As before, the approach elevates even lesser songs.

Fortunately, therearen't many of those. (None, in fact, if you're the sort of person who would havepreferred In Utero to Nevermind if the former had been by the Verve.) And Andrews'strongest songs—"Rabbit Hole" (think Queens of the Stone Age-meets-Wire, thenfind something better to do) and the smoldering, serpentine "River,"—exude a sensualityfar too multidimensional and intense for most garage bands to even imagine. Ifmajor label indie rock has a future...