Love at the End of the World

by Stewart Mason Superficially, Sam Roberts is part of that continuum of heartland Canadian rockers best exemplified in the United States by Bryan Adams and Bachman-Turner Overdrive: plainspoken, uncomplicated hard rock leavened with enough pop hooks to appeal to both the dudes and their chicks. There's certainly an element of that kind of meat and potatoes rock and roll on Roberts' third album: first single "Them Kids" is a grumpy state-of-the-rawk overview that posits the idea that old-fashioned rock and roll values are under attack by the dominance of flavor of the month hip-hop and prefab American Idol (or at least Canadian Idol) types. Roberts is only 33, which is awfully young for this kind of "you kids get offa my lawn!" rant, which is probably why that particular song is kinda awful. That misstep aside, however, Roberts reveals himself to be a thoughtful lyricist with an eye for novelistic detail, and his songs -- while rooted in the playlist of the average classic rock radio playlist, heavy on the Springsteen and '70s-vintage Rolling Stones -- are far more varied and interesting than one might expect. For example, "Lions of the Kalahari" mixes a psychedelic guitar wash and hazy, diffuse vocals with a prominent, rubbery bass line, for an effect that's more R.E.M. than the Who, and the defiant "Up Sister" and the churning "End of the Empire" in different ways channel various periods of U2's career. Other highlights include the immediately catchy album closer "Detroit '67," setting an impressionistic stream of consciousness lyric to a rollicking piano-fueled tune, and the elegiac "Waking the Dead," built on shimmering Eno-style washes of heavily processed guitars. An appealingly eclectic and mostly very good album, Love at the End of the World proves that mainstream-oriented rock doesn't need to be boring and formulaic.