With its jangly twang, evocative lyrics and earnest vocals, Clem Snide resembles a high-lonesome version of R.E.M. And everybody hurts on its fifth release, which gracefully deals with such capital-letter crises as its titular trauma (The End of Love) and the disappearance of silence. Eef Barzelay submerges his songs in sorrow, but the melodies and characters are too buoyant to drown. Clem Snide moves from quiet country shuffles to glossy orchestral numbers, but Barzelay's delivery never wavers in its weariness. Live, the sing-along melodies soar, but Barzelay's vocals provide an emotional anchor that keeps them from floating into the disposable-pop ether. We can't think of a better act to summon up some of the old love and darkness the Grand Emporium used to have in spades.
