I know they've been around forever, so this may not be apt, but, man, every time I listen to this album all I can picture is Pavement trying to play their instruments while totally overdosing on muscle relaxers and Percocet, sunbathing on a beach surrounded by their favourite Coltrane albums. In reality, the eighth from the long-running mellow and breezy artsy indie rockers finds them sounding as comfortable as they should, which is both a plus and a minus.
On the plus side, they continue to refine their sedate sound with an angular indie-meets-quasi-jazz approach that ambles along well enough. On the minus, the songs get a bit predictable, and every so often the sheer spinelessness of it all comes out full force. In the end, Car Alarm is likeable enough if you're already a fan. Just don't expect to die of excitement.