he keystone of punk music is to rip down rock to its foundations, and then to either bash out the smoldering remnants, or to build on that foundation to create adventurous and distinctly original music. That method is how punk saved the world in the late 70s, and the charts are primed for a new revolution along the same lines.


Idlewild's new album, 100 Broken Windows follows the constructionist view of punk, and while it isn't as revolutionary as Never Mind The Bollocks or Nevermind, it is every bit as good. 100 Broken Windows plows a path into the depths of your heart where all of your other favorite albums dwell; a slash-and-burn mission to set your soul ablaze with incandescent passion and love of music.


A history lesson of indie-rock up to this point, hitting on everything from the formative (The Stooges), following through to gawky adolescence (REM) and finally that uncertain period of the early 20's (Pavement), 100 Broken Windows is reverent without being repetitious. And if reupholstering college rock wasn't enough, Idlewild tries (and succeeds) in making righteous punk sound relevant again; all of this done in concise, 4-minute sparks of anthemic choruses, timeless melodies and arpeggio guitar.


Idlewild hails from Scotland, and while your mind is tempted to drift towards fellow Scotsmen Travis, geographic location is the only similarity. Sure, Idlewild has spent some time in art-school limbo, and it shows, but they temper that sensitivity with crystal-clear production, searing guitars and vocals that alternate between shouting and whispering.


See that tightrope act in "Little Discourage," as singer Roddy Woomble yelps in a Michael Stipe circa-1983 infliction, but sings with an unfettered fervor that Stipe never had. When Woomble shreds his voice on lines like "All I need is a little discourage," you realize that "Radio Free Europe" still holds true.


Put simply, Idlewild rocks, creating music that's all bluster and belligerence on the surface, but goes much deeper. Beneath that soccer hooligan exterior, there's a shy little whip of a lad listening to Smiths records in his bedroom, pondering the meaning of it all (or why he can't get a date). That misfit pops up most visibly in the Mozz-worthy "Let Me Sleep (Next To The Mirror)" and the stripped-down "The Bronze Medal." In the latter, Woomble nearly breaks down in tears as he sings "It wasn't frustration/Because I had nothing to throw away...looking down on third place."


It's that sort of naked honesty, both in lyrics and sound, that makes 100 Broken Windows so amazing. In the surging "These Wooden Ideas," Woomble sounds like he's condemning the music industry, shown by lines like "This wooden idea is your method of repetition...I bet you don't know how to sell conviction!" Woomble sure does, though. A high-pitched keyboard squeal and radio-friendly but smart guitars flail about.


The art-school boy-meets-punk rocker contradictions of the band are showcased the best on the single "Roseability." A mish-mash of cleaned-up Stooges riffs, shifting stop-start dynamics and a melody that Johnny Marr would cut off his legs for, "Roseability" is indie rock at its most exhilarating. Woomble shouts "Gertrude Stein said 'that's enough now!'" like the coolest English professor in the world, while Colin Newton's drums build walls that bend and give to the waves of sonic force.


Equally impressive is the pounding riff cookbook of "Idea Track." A skittering guitar introduces the song, as Idlewild crafts some ethereal vocal harmonies. Then a thorny batch of distortion and feedback is launched at you, and Woomble adopts a Black Francis howl, yelling nonsense like "Three months on this bad design won't make it feel any easier/Your grave, it's your grave." But then the chorus rolls around, revealing an unforgettable hook that scrapes the heavens.


That pop heart that secretly pumps blood throughout the entire album really seeps to the surface on tracks such as "Let Me Sleep" and "Actually It's Darkness." While they may have choruses that are instant sing-alongs and squeaky-clean production, they're never dumbed-down attempts to pander to the market. "Actually..." kicks off with an ancient sounding post-punk keyboard before jumping into an "Oi! Oi" punk riff, and the piano-driven bridge will make you a believer. It's a moment every bit as magical as when REM discovered the Top 40 with "The One I Love." Also, check out the Edge knock-off at the beginning of "Let Me Sleep."


Even when Idlewild decides to just thrash the hell out of a song, as "Rusty" shows, they can't help but be the catchiest band in the world. A truly apocalyptic guitar and a thuggish bass line chase you down a dark alley, where Woomble waits at the end to spew bile at you such as "You're not original/What are you looking for?/You'll never get close." Yeah, there is a prerequisite for liking all things hard, fast and abrasive, but if you can stop yourself from shrieking along with Woomble, then just run back to your Celine Dion albums, loser.


If "Rusty" didn't get your blood pumpin', then the 100 MPH assault of "Listen To What You've Got" will. Propelled into warp speed by Rod Jones' greased lighting riff, Woomble keeps the pace as Newton's drumming will make you swear you can feel the wind beating in your face. "Listen..." finally breaks down as Woomble bellows an unintelligible shout on the beat and a short burst of feedback ends it all. The song gives you the feeling of being a race car driver jacked up on amphetamines.


The tail end of the disc is perhaps the most conventional section, filled with mid-tempo rockers and ballads that may not be as edgy or nervous as the rest of the album, but never fail to get your undivided attention. By the time the plaintive "The Bronze Medal" closes out the album, Idlewild has come full circle, proving their maturity and mastery of craft.


There aren't enough superlatives for me to adorn 1100 Broken Windows with. Idlewild shows what rock is really all about here: stealing from the past and making it your own; dressing up everyday feelings in little packages that may seem uninviting on the surface, but eventually work their way into our ears, hearts and lives. Did I say rock was dead? Damn, I love admitting I'm wrong.