CD reviews: Owl City, Bloc Party

Owl City, "The Midsummer Station" (Republic)

The Owatonna hitmaker's third album sounds like the soundtrack for one of those Nickelodeon or Disney TV movies you either enjoyed as a tween or endured as an adult. With generic pop-rock songs, it makes for passable entertainment, but ultimately it's formulaic and forgettable.

It's a far cry from Owl City's breakout hit, 2009's "Fireflies." As grating as that song may have been to some, its quirky charm made it stand out from the rest of the pop pack. With this new album, Adam Young, the man behind the Owl City moniker, goes for a sound that we've heard countless times on top 40 radio: upbeat grooves that attempt to have an anthemic feel, with a little bit of dance-synth thrown in for good measure. It doesn't help matters that Young's voice is defined by its lack of soul.

Carly Rae Jepsen provides the rare spark that lifts "Good Time," while the ballad "Silhouette" is one of the few songs that makes you feel something, albeit melancholy. But in general, "The Midsummer Station" doesn't generate much emotion.

NEKESA MUMBI MOODY, ASSOCIATED PRESS

Bloc Party, "Four" (Frenchkiss)

Kele Okereke, lead singer of Bloc Party, transmits at a steady frequency, making few distinctions between the mundane and the epic. The songs on "Four," the band's new jolt of stylized catharsis, attempt to engage with issues personal and sociopolitical, and Okereke does his part to level the field, inflating some and cutting others to size.

Bloc Party, which hails from London, is well accustomed to these strategies. The band has managed to outlast the postpunk-revival boomlet from which it emerged, diversifying its sound (up to a point) and broadening its focus (likewise). "Four" still has the vertiginous pulse and snarling riffs that have been Bloc Party trademarks since the band's breakout 2005 debut. At times, as on "Octopus," this album's hyper-caffeinated lead single, it's the surface details that seem to matter most.

Then again, "Four" opens with "So He Begins to Lie," a reflection on the fraudulent undertow of celebrity. It closes with "We Are Not Good People," a Faustian appeal to a potentially corruptible young man. About midway comes "Kettling," with lyrics that evoke a groundswell of populist protest. And on "Coliseum," Okereke yelps some kind of declaration -- "The empire never ended!" -- at a pivotal moment, just before the volume cranks up and the drums and distortion kick in.

Because Okereke rarely modulates his level of urgency, these flare-ups of topicality feel less convincing than his moments of vitriol ("Team A") or reassurance ("The Healing") or romantic avowal ("Truth"). On "V.A.L.I.S.," apparently inspired by the philosophically minded Philip K. Dick novel of the same name, Okereke imagines a dystopian future version of himself. "You gotta show me the way," he implores, over a crisply propulsive new-wave beat. A similar plea turns up in the refrain to "Real Talk," one of the album's most appealing tunes, built around a skeletal, syncopated groove.

NATE CHINEN, NEW YORK TIMES