"Indie" has never been a particularly useful term for describing an artist's style, but if we treat it as the latest catchall name for the sound of the middle class white teenage quest for identity, then Immaculate Machine are quintessentially indie in the '05 sense. Their keyboard-driven, harmony-laden power-pop should land them OC appearances, New Porn comparisons and a modest showing on the CMJ charts, but if we take a step back from what the band is being prepackaged as, their music sounds less like Yo La Tengo than it resembles emo, grunge or ska during their hot shit periods. Rainer Maria-ish not-quite-in-tune-but-trying-damn-hard-to-be vocals immediately suggest that Immaculate Machine emphasize feeling and effort first and foremost, and will register as either charming or grating, depending on whether or not you assume the role of empathetic parent when you put on your headphones.

It's in their lyrics, though, that Immaculate Machine really betray their cutthroat idealism. A "we can make it if we try" thread runs throughout the album, whether the lyrics deal with relationships ("Phone No.") or a forthcoming apocalypse ("No Such Thing As the Future"). "So Cynical" and "No Way Out", the record's centerpieces, burn like arcade fires, writhing cathartically and thirsting for resolution; here, the group finally spins gold out of brittle earnestness. An album of scorchers like these could have made a strong case for the primary importance of desire and giving a damn.