The worst thing about the Internet is that it’s hard to be special. Sure, we’re able to instantly save some of the world’s most unique music to our hard drives thanks to modern technology, but having a splathering of sound available for discerning ears just doesn’t bode well for a band like New York-based four-piece, Chief. Think about it. The brand of rock & roll they offer has been around for almost a century, and “indie rock” is already the most tired genre in music today. In a world where stealing an album is as easy as wiping your own ass, how is a band like this supposed to gain listeners – or even get mentioned in more than three blog posts – with an album as mediocre as Modern Rituals?

Like a lot of music today, the nearly 45 minutes sounds okay, but it’s just not good. It’s just average anyway you cut it. Through headphones, a car stereo, laptop speakers, and even a badass home theater, the 11 songs that make up the band’s Domino Records debut don’t possess a single, solitary ounce of sonic or lyrical matter to make them memorable. Album openers “The Minute I Saw It” and “Nothing’s Wrong” come and go without any punch, and the rest of the songs play on without any fanfare. Most songs – even bad ones – become somewhat catchy after 15 listens, but Evan Koga’s bland-as-a-rice-cake delivery on cuts like “In the Valley” and “You Tell Me” make this stuff play more like background music in a Barnes & Noble.

While the band members – Mike Moonves plus brothers Danny and Michael Fujikawa – are great musicians, the compositions are tired and could benefit from some more colorful harmonies, unique lead guitar parts, or even some creative drum fills. Maybe the boys need to take some of the advice Koga spouts off on album highlight “This Land.” The chorus’ harmony is the entire set’s most enjoyable moment and the four-minute song’s first verse finds him singing, “I need to get stronger/I can’t be going out every night anymore.” Indeed. Try to get more sleep before hitting the studio next time; maybe the results won’t be so akin to counting sheep while tripping on Quaaludes.