Despite this Atlanta quintet's abundance of leather and tattoos, the digestible slabs of hard, melodic rock on their debut album sound as squeaky-clean as they come. But where carefully sculpted, highly polished production has sounded the death knell of many a decibel-heavy emo/punk/rock record, Not An Angel benefits from the severe scrubbing at the console. Melodic to their radio-ready core, City Sleeps (something of a misnomer) melds a love of volume to a penchant for wearing their hearts on their sleeves. For every chorus of Be a man / Don't let her do that to you, a handful of songs pine for the ladies with the shameless ache of youth. Lyrically surreal moments--Jesus as a real-life mannequin, a girl who kisses like a prototype--bridge the gap from machismo to heartbreak, but just when Not An Angel moves dangerously close to taking itself too seriously, the band jerks into an odd time signature, drops a military snare-drum roll, stomps on the distortion pedals, and soldiers forward. In a just world, then, City Sleeps should climb the backs of contemporaries like Fall Out Boy and their chart-topping pop/punk ilk. Unlikely, perhaps, but stay tuned. --Jason Kirk
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