The Femurs, Modern Mexico

With Modern Mexico, Seattle duo Los Femurs (or “Femurs,” or “The Femurs”; they seem to use both articles interchangeably or not at all, depending on their whim) have created something that’s familiar and brilliant at the same time. Rob and Colin Femur pound away on guitars and drums and sing their hearts out in frantic, nearly desperate fashion, begging comparisons to the Violent Femmes, The Mountain Goats, and personal faves Machine Go Boom, and the manic energy these guys throw off is just plain ridiculous. It’s difficult at times to believe that this is just a pair of guys, a minimal-sounding drum kit, and un-distorted, plain guitars.

Beneath the folk-punky crust, though, beats a heart of shiny-pure power pop, the kind Nick Lowe or Elvist Costello would be proud to put their names to. On top of that, there are points where The Femurs remind me a heck of a lot of Ben Lee back in his younger, scrappier days, which makes sense considering that both Lee and the Brothers Femur manage to graft punk energy onto sunshiny, sweet melodies. Tracks like “Crazy Girl” and “Round and Round” are confident, smiling pop tunes full of fast, silver-tongued melodicism, speedy and cheery at the same time.

The biggest obstacle to the jangly, poppy singer-songwriter duo in general, in my view, is that they seem to let their “humor” run away from ’em, ending up being goofy and jokey and not all that interesting musically (okay, Flight of the Conchords excepted). The Femurs dodge nimbly ’round that pitfall, however, and manage to infuse their intricately-crafted pop songs with both a tart bite of sarcasm and a hands-in-the-air disregard for irony. That is to say, they’re sincere without being overwrought and they’re smart without feeling the need to throw it in your face. Even “Calgon,” the one song where they go for a “clever,” outdated, kind of clunky lyrical idea (how long has it been since those damn commercials were on the air, now?), still works in spite of itself.

If it sounds like I’m laying the praise on a bit thick with the comparisons to Lowe, Costello, and John Darnielle, well, I just can’t get away from it. The songs on Modern Mexico — which is technically two albums, by the way, the “main” EP and a previously-released EP called Jack Cafferty vs. Chuck Scarborough, which is good but is definitely a less-polished effort — are catchy as hell, with both Femurs harmonizing seemingly effortlessly like the Beach Boys, if the ’60s icons had, uh, been into The Ramones. Basically, these two guys have somehow stumbled upon that missing ground between sunny-day, squeaky-clean ’60s pop and the Ramones’ streetwise, hooky snarl.

Seriously, this is one of those albums where I catch myself half-consciously trying to pick which song of the bunch is going on the next mix CD I make for friends. Actually, now that I say that, it occurs to me that I already know the top contender for that spot. Despite coming not even halfway through the album, the capper track has to be “Allison,” a sweet, poignant song about love-gone-wrong (what, like there’s any other kind of love song worth a damn?) that rides a beautifully simple guitar line and rumbling, tripping-over-itself, Silver Scooter-ish drums. Despite the Femurs’ insistence that “All is fine / all is fine,” the frantic, unmeasured pace of the song betrays the nerves jangling beneath.

The only thing stopping me from hitting the “Back” button after hearing that track is followup “September 1st,” which is — holy shit — an honest-to-God birthday song that isn’t cheesy or trite but heartfelt and eminently hummable. Oh, and then there’s second-half track “Peter Wolf,” with that surf-y, Wonders-gone-Rockaway Beach beat and handclaps, and I can’t forget the sing-along ready “Crazy Girl,” and…ah, hell. Better start the whole thing over again.