Golden years

Not all kids are cute and, even if they sport dimples entertaining enough for an audience larger than immediate family (but no less annoying for that), chances are slim that they won’t look like former child stars when they grow up. It’s painful to witness those cherubic looks — all big eyes and curly locks — in an old photograph mutate into the catatonic stare of a corporate ID. Even more painful is hearing what that sounds like. (Hanson, Lil’ Bow Wow, Silverchair anyone?)

It’s misleading, although admittedly convenient, to declare Ciudad as the Ugly Ducklings of the local music scene. Even though their new LP “Bring Your Friends” may just be their best album yet, the band has been consistent since their debut in making songs remarkable for their infectious pop shimmy as well as the sophistication behind those shimmering melodies. Their first two records — “Hello! How Are You, Mico The Happy Bear?” and “Is That Ciudad? Yes, Son, It’s Me” — rank among the best of those years in which they were released. Their third album (“It’s Like A Magic”) was a collection of old songs they never properly recorded — with most of the material being written before they even put out their debut — enjoyable enough for puerile treats like Escape or Fixing The Radio. But with their latest offering, the band’s grown up, all right, and it’s certainly a good thing.

The threat of “maturity” in songs like Call it a Flick and Dessie Belle from albums previous is made good on “Bring Your Friends.” Although still sparkling with the band’s characteristic wit and humor, the album’s tone is decidedly autumnal, elegiac throughout but without being overtly or unnecessarily dramatic. In fact, much of its virtues are that it’s never despairing. The album’s standout track, My Emptiness, is particularly poignant, detailing as it does a growing misanthropy and social detachment, but never in a way that makes it any less fun to listen to. Lines like, “It doesn’t matter/I’m sober/I need my space/So if ever, don’t come by” or “Inviting somebody over/It’s such a joke/So it’s something I don’t try,” are sung with such sweetness and sincerity — and to such a danceable rhythm too! — that it’s difficult not to be moved and smile at the same time. First single Friday Noon is also a nice ditty full of regret, feelings of alienation and depression — but rather than be weighted down, the song traipses those minefields as if it were a windswept park in all its crepuscular grandeur.

But before the band is accused of being too clever, here’s the thing. It’s almost certain that they’re not being ironic. (Although, unlike Alanis Morissette, they would seem to be smart enough to know the definition of irony.) To put it down to that is inaccurate. Even at the risk of relegating them to that purgatory known as Adult Oriented Rock (or AOR), it’s only right to note that it’s not irony, it’s age. Rather than dulling the luster of the songs, it’s given it an expressive iridescence that all these mirror ball and neon lights of younger acts sorely lack.

From the inane to the serious, the clichés and the innovations, Ciudad takes them all and uses them accordingly, making songs that could’ve only come from their collective histories, without thought of trend or fashion. To be sure (and to demonstrate a point), there are songs here that are good enough to stand alongside Gary V.’s Growing Up — surely one of the greatest pop songs ever about burgeoning maturity and friendship. (That’s an un-ironic compliment, by the way.)

Here’s looking forward to the boys when they’re old and gray.