On Bad Habits, Every Avenue continue to prove that there’s a place in the world for straightforward power-pop, a genre that—from its earliest days (Big Star, The Raspberries) through its subterranean late-20th-century highs (The Replacements, Material Issue) and up to its Disneyfied late-2000s coming-out (which was pretty much anyone in 2007 who wore neon and didn’t self-describe as br00tal)—has perpetually struggled for respect. All of those earlier bands, either maligned or merely ignored, crumbled under the weight of expectations unmet, only to see their legacy grow years after calling it a day. Every Avenue are, perhaps unwittingly, the latest outfit to pick up the burden, churning out three albums and an EP’s worth of sturdy, self-assured and relatively similar melodic rock tunes over the last four years on Fearless Records. On one hand, there aren’t going to be any surprises here; on the other, there’s something to be said for knowing who you are.

Which is not to say that there isn’t room to play around within the genre, and Bad Habits finds Every Avenue stretching their stylistic legs a little. Bad Habits features a few of what are pretty definitively the band’s angstiest moments, or at least moments when the angst in vocalist Dave Strauchman’s lyrics carries over into the music, sucked up by hungry guitars that grind and squeal as they choke it down with a newfound, gutty strength. (Speculation: guitarist Jimmie Deeghan’s recently grown Grizzly Adams beard contains Samson-like powers.) Best is “No One But You,” which throws those snarling axes over the top of a pounding swing beat. Elsewhere, “Whatever Happened To You” gallops along with some serious horsepower and Strauchman’s scruffiest vocals to date.

When Every Avenue head in the other direction, on ballad “I Can’t Not Love You”, they do so with deft restraint, dropping in pianos and string swells that in most hands would devolve into mawkish arena clichés. What could easily become sappy is instead neatly sweet. And album-closer “Watch The World” is an epically successful experiment, playing with breezy Third Eye Blind textures in its verses, bassist Matt Black’s dubby lead carrying the melody until the song bursts into a sparkling gem of a chorus full of chiming guitars. It’s a real tribute to the band that their ideas are so consistently well-executed. Even the more traditional numbers— “There Tonight” and “Only Place I Call Home” could comfortably slide onto any of the band’s earlier releases—feel a little snappier, pop a little harder in the production department than did 2009’s Picture Perfect.

Where their contemporaries from the great power pop explosion of 2007-8 have mostly moved on to the greener-on-the-other-side pastures like radio pop (We The Kings) and roots rock (The Maine), Every Avenue are taking perhaps the boldest stance of all in holding their ground. It’s unclear where straightforward rock music fits into a musical landscape dominated by fuzzy indie-folk, beat-driven hip-pop and the hollow, decaying ruins of the alternative nation that pass for radio rock, but Every Avenue do what they do too damn well to stop now. If that means they spend their career perpetually underappreciated (and let me make it clear that I really hope that’s not the case), they’re at least leaving one hell of a catalog to be discovered later. Consider Bad Habitsanother worthy addition to it. So says Neil Young and so shall it be: Hey hey my my, rock and roll will never die.

★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

*This review was composed by Jesse Richman