The Von Bondies: Pawn Shoppe Heart

If there's a perfect time for the singer of a rising rock 'n' roll band to be repeatedly punched in the face by The White Stripes' Jack White, it'd be just before the release of his major-label debut. Lucky Jason Stollsteimer, singer-guitarist and chief songwriter for The Von Bondies, received just such a well-timed beating late last year. Stollsteimer pressed charges, and White–who has since pled guilty–initially claimed self-defense, which would make perfect sense if a court could see White's bruised ego. After The White Stripes found fame, White helped shine a light on other Detroit bands, taking The Von Bondies on tour and producing its debut, the convincingly sneering Lack Of Communication. Without the relationship, The Von Bondies might not have gotten this far, and as it is, the band would have to create a particularly powerful album to move from that shadow. Pawn Shoppe Heart, though occasionally catchy and exciting, doesn't have that kind of strength.

Pawn Shoppe Heart starts out rough enough, with a swaggering ode to youth ("No Regrets") and the faux-desperate manifesto "Broken Man," wherein Stollsteimer growls, "I'm a broken man / This here's my broken band / From a broken land / We call Detroit City." Then there's the snotty, terrific first single "C'mon C'mon," a song unafraid to capture the spirit of garage rock: Those '60s bands weren't being deliberately difficult; they just buried huge hooks like these in distortion and reverb, then delighted in digging them up.

Unfortunately, "C'mon C'Mon" precedes a precipitous drop-off. With just a couple of exceptions, the remainder of Pawn Shoppe Heart muddles around without sinking in. "Mairead," an ode to a real-life British groupie (complete with not-so-subtle hints about her famous conquests), wails around, desperate to be taken seriously, but only sounds grating. Elsewhere, Stollsteimer unwisely conjures both Glenn Danzig and The Cult's Ian Astbury in an attempt at a soulful rock vocal. A hidden bonus track drags down an already-weighty second half as Stollsteimer belts out "Try A Little Tenderness" with a forced abandon that would make Otis Redding grimace. And that's the problem with Pawn Shoppe Heart: Too many half-hearted pokes at the chest, not enough blows to the face.