Also this issue: Mystery Men -Paul Burress Hedging Our Bets -Juliet Fletcher Y Not? -A.D. Amorosi

March 6-12, 2003

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Idlewild

Over the course of three albums, not to mention enough import-only singles to have loyal stateside fans eating Ramen for months, Idlewild has channeled the energy of its hardcore-ish early recordings in increasingly complex ways, steadily turning down the volume while only sharpening its impact. The Remote Part won't be out here for a few weeks, by which time they'll be hitting stadiums with Pearl Jam, but fans have been yearning along to the import's aching tunes for the better part of six months. Roddy Woomble's overreaching lyrics, particularly his penchant for repeating phrases that weren't that impressive the first time 'round, remain the major sticking point. (The artwork for Remote Part bears the legend "Support your local poet." Stick it in yer sestina, pally.) But the Scottish quintet, who recently replaced a boozy bassist and added a full-time keyboard player, knock it out of the park with "American English," a Lenny Kaye-inspired anthem about growing up in the shadow of American culture. "Can you contract the American dream?" Woomble wonders, while the band proceeds to dream it all up themselves. We Yanks have made a habit of turning a cold shoulder to British bands (unless they're from Brooklyn), but Idlewild has the force and the fire to storm its way onto the radio, if only someone would crack open the door. Knock knock.

Fri., March 7, 9 p.m., $10-$12, with French Kicks and Solea, The TLA, 334 South St., 215-336-2000.

—Sam Adams