Philadelphia's Brian McTear has some major indie-cred in his home town, successful independent record producer and occasionally-treasured session man that he is, but his name didn't mean much to me. That's why Revenge (McTear's second album as Bitter Bitter Weeks) feels like such a revelation, completely out of the blue and into the haze of a humid summer afternoon. McTear isn't just a singer-songwriter with something to prove; his songs range from intimate numbers featuring only his voice and guitar to all-out rockers with an almost widescreen perspective, as is the case with the romping "Kings" and "Ghost Ride"'s gorgeous coda. Flashes of Paul Westerberg's most sensitive moments mix with the irresistible commercial quality that allowed The Shins to cross over to a segment of the mainstream. But Bitter Bitter Weeks is the sound of The Shins in a depressive state, their futures bleak and hopeless, nostalgic verse no long worth the bar napkin it was originally written on.

"Rehearsed" is the sound of "New Slang" stripped of its spirit and sent out to the desert to die a slow and lingering death. A haunting organ drone barely keeps from collapsing under its own weight while McTear calls out to a lover who seems to be as good as lost. Then it's all split and burnt when the gorgeous "Kings" comes crashing through the speakers, all joyous Wilco circa Being There. "Oh you're a big fucking cock, you complain and you cry / You're afraid of the drugs but you're still getting high," McTear sings without a hint of irony, supported by a percussive punch that would send even the most jaded rocker reeling.

McTear connects just as strongly with a single mic and a ringing acoustic guitar. "A Deer in the Headlights" is belted out to an empty room, the words still bouncing off the walls long after the final chord has been strummed. "The Greatest Extremes" is similarly under-produced but features a warmth that would force a smile out of cold-hearted Alex Chilton with its austere nod to the tragic sound of Big Star's Third/Sisters Lovers. Opener "Revenge" establishes this formula from the outset; it's a desolate anti-war anthem that appeared in an earlier form on one of Thurston Moore's Protest Records compilations. Honestly, though, it's instantly lovable and painfully simple tracks like the guitar-voice sting of "Boy Takes On Tornado" that will melt young girls' hearts and make aspiring indie rockers reach for their acoustic guitars. They'll paw through the phone book, looking up McTear's Miner Street Studios, hoping to sound even half as good as Revenge.