Leaving behind producer Ross Robinson (which in itself is a bit intimidating as many who have found success with his production have seen a sharp drop in quality when on their own) and the now defunct label Artistdirect, The Blood Brothers had an uncertain future shortly after their love/hate debut enigma dropped. Ultimately their heavy buzz and left-of-center ethics did manage to pay off in finding them a home at V2 Records. The question is this though: How does one follow-up an album as outrageously unique as "Burn Piano Island, Burn" without guaranteeing disappointment? The Blood Brothers haven't exactly found the answer, but upon listening to this amalgamation of acid-pop and grind-punk one thing is for sure: they have one hell of a grudge against their audience.

"Crimes" is the musical equivalent of snorting rails of Pixie Stix and going on a Jolt Cola bender; a high-octane sugar-high that flashes and smashes with adrenalized fury before succumbing to the inevitable sugar detox meltdown. The premise is familiar, as vocalists Johnny Whitney and Jordan Blilie screech, drool and froth at the mouth like two brothers wrestling over a prized action figure, caterwauling and wailing with such ardent intensity that one just expects blood to be shed. The big surprise is that although this dual temper tantrum is as raw as ever, the two "brothers" in question have somehow incorporated such piss & vinegar singing into recognizably melodic pop songs. That is not to erase the fiery undercurrent of schizophrenic punk that has made The Blood Brothers such an invigorating force on the indie circuit; but the new focus on channeling such fervor into coherent 2-3 minute explosions has made this dysfunctional family curiously catchy. Toning down their more acerbic edges opens up new avenues of excitement, yet as the album comes to a close one is left with an undeniable feeling that they were tricked into digesting decorative appetizers and left with a main course bill.

Given The Blood Brothers placement at the head of a new wave of necessary punk music (one of seemingly hundreds of bands championed as pioneers in this period of musical malaise), they have become easy targets, making this an album burdened by hype and anticipation. It is commendable that The Blood Brothers refuse to rest on their laurels, as "Crimes" just further proves that these unpredictable screamo mavens always function with 3 aces up their sleeve at all times. Admittedly the band have claimed the decision to settle with the much shorter song structures was a necessity from a live performance standpoint, as the punk energy ensures flexibility and a less arduous execution audibly, but to say this excursion wasn't a bit surprising would be a lie.

In this case a more concise, melodic design does not mean more accessible, as Whitney's over-the-top vocals still sound like he spent some time in the booth with a balloon and a case of Whip-Its. On top of this nasal nightmare, The Blood Brothers musical inclinations still encourage carnage and chaos over delicacy and subtlety, blending underlying jazz and reggae textures into a hardcore/grind/punk energy-drink of noxious proportions. With that said, "Crimes" is an all-too clear example of how the desire for artistic freedom can directly impact on the very core of the band's success, as the extreme level the band excels at is inadvertently alienating listeners in the process. The album is exciting, frustrating and remains a victory for them, but to continually pull the rug out from under the unsuspecting fans, however necessary it may be, will eventually result in the group themselves feeling the burn.