They may have taken a decade to write their often-sparkling debut Asleep in the Back, but Manchester's Elbow didn't blow their wad. Working from scratch, and with greater expectations, the sinewy quintet fills another CD full of ambitious post-shoegaze throb rock. Songs range from the threatening proto-tribal brute nastiness of "Snooks" to the airy sweetness of "Fugitive Motel" (inspired by touring's insane demand on musicians' romances back home, as well as a typically ratty roadside American no-tell motel in Austin, Texas) to, best of all, the Catherine Wheel-like buzz and shimmer of "Fallen Angel." Singer Guy Garvey moves from sheer silent menace to a warm caring-dad persona and back at will, to fit the lightning squall that threatens behind him but only flashes on tracks like "Snooks." And the band seems looser, as though starting fresh is a less draining experience than pulling together a lifetime's work. Elbow can be as soft and comforting as a fluffy pillow one moment, your peace and tranquility guided by the warm tones of bassist Pete Turner. But just as you relax, worry approaches, slowly but impressionably, like on the opening jolt "Ribcage." Capable of Technicolor beauty ("Not a Job"), they have a curious ability to keep you from getting too complacent for too long. Ben Hiller's foreboding but pretty production fills the room with a riot of fall to winter colors, vibrant and deeply textured, to create epic sweep without the bombast, grace without too much drifting.

"They may have taken a decade to write their often-sparkling debut Asleep in the Back, but Manchester's Elbow didn't blow their wad. Working from scratch, and with greater expectations, the sinewy quintet fills another CD full of ambitious post-shoegaze throb rock. Songs range from the threatening proto-tribal brute nastiness of ""Snooks"" to the airy sweetness of ""Fugitive Motel"" (inspired by touring's insane demand on musicians' romances back home, as well as a typically ratty roadside American no-tell motel in Austin, Texas) to, best of all, the Catherine Wheel-like buzz and shimmer of ""Fallen Angel."" Singer Guy Garvey moves from sheer silent menace to a warm caring-dad persona and back at will, to fit the lightning squall that threatens behind him but only flashes on tracks like ""Snooks."" And the band seems looser, as though starting fresh is a less draining experience than pulling together a lifetime's work. Elbow can be as soft and comforting as a fluffy pillow one moment, your peace and tranquility guided by the warm tones of bassist Pete Turner. But just as you relax, worry approaches, slowly but impressionably, like on the opening jolt ""Ribcage."" Capable of Technicolor beauty (""Not a Job""), they have a curious ability to keep you from getting too complacent for too long. Ben Hiller's foreboding but pretty production fills the room with a riot of fall to winter colors, vibrant and deeply textured, to create epic sweep without the bombast, grace without too much drifting."