No one seems to want to say it, so it might as well be me. The first two months of this year, supposedly lucky number seven, have been a really crappy time for indie rock. Ask yourselves and you’ll see that I’m right. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah ignored my advice and tried to get people to dance to a lecture and even if Satan says so, that just ain’t happening. Kevin Barnes is off getting in touch with his inner Tony Manero and that can’t be a good thing. Menomena ditched all the fun from their first two albums and released an LP that sounds like Dntel castoffs. Even the ever reliable James Mercer decided to muck up the good thing The Shins had going by trying to make them a real band. Oops; and don’t think it’s going to get any better. That new Arcade Fire you’re salivating over? Not going to be in the same ballpark as Funeral, and I’m now taking bets on what’s going to come first: Chinese Democracy or the new Radiohead LP. Take your pick.

Did I mention that somewhere amidst all this, Bloc Party put out a new LP called A Weekend In The City?

Now I’m never one to expect much from second albums, especially from bands who had debut albums that I loved as much as I loved Silent Alarm, but I had reason to expect that Bloc Party would prove me wrong. Someone has to eventually. Well they didn’t. Not quite.

Part of what drew me to the band was that they never quite fit into this new craze for sullen post-punk. They just seemed to care more than Franz Ferdinand, The Futureheads, Maximo Park et al. It was refreshing . Silent Alarm had all the grit of a punk album. The almost not there bass lines, spiky guitar parts and Matt Tong’s insane drumming (see them live, the guy’s like Animal on crack.) There was more to these lads though. Sure Kele Okereke was shouting nebulous political statements that could almost justify the bands Marxist derived name but everything else about the album was pure pop. Like The Smiths before them, Bloc Party seemed destined to be the thinking man’s guitar band. Of course there was that nagging problem of the follow up.

Now it seemed to me there were four directions the band could take in making this album. They could remake Silent Alarm. They could get even more ragged. They could embrace all of their pop instincts and layer everything with strings (The Snow Patrol method,) or they could pull off something really remarkable and redefine themselves as a band. They took option number five.

And therein lies A Weekend’s big problem. It’s a copout. A copout that almost works, but a copout none the less. By combining options two and three the bands has shown a potential for growth, but it has also shown that no one takes Bloc Party as seriously as they take themselves (Pearl Jam syndrome.)

Album opener Song For Clay (Disappear Here) is an inauspicious beginning. For all his powers as an engaging front man, Okereke is not much of a singer and this songs proves that maybe he should limit his Thom Yorke impersonations to Karaoke nights. Luckily for us about a minute through the dirge the bands decides to make a racket and brings back the glorious mess that made Silent Alarm so endearing. Even if it does sound like it’s being produced by M83. From there it’s a mixed bag.

Hunting For Witches sounds like a bad remix of Alarm’s Helicopter with annoying little Todd Rundgren synth blurts and Tong sounded like he’s a half step behind the rest of the band. The Prayer has the same problem. Where Is Home and Kreuzberg aren’t especially bad but they’re also not especially memorable either.

Despite these flaws, the album almost succeeds. I Still Remember is as strong as anything the band as ever written, and it’s nostalgic, almost childlike view of love seems to be a direct answer to Alarm’s strongest track This Modern Love. Uniform and On both suffer from a touch of musical laziness but show Okereke has grown as a lyricist. In fact most of the songs actually have a verse/chorus structure. Imagine that. Waiting For The 7:18 is the song Coldplay has been wanting to write for a long time and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

So where does this leave us? In a bit of a limbo as a matter of fact. A Weekend In The City certainly won’t change any lives (except for maybe some 13 year old emo girls who have just discovered a record label not named Victory), and that’s okay. Second albums don’t change lives. They don’t ruin them either. I still believe that Bloc Party have it in them to make a truly great record, like the kind they sing about. Let’s just hope they don’t make us all wait too long.