Generally, my pet peeves tend to rotate with time. Yesterday you could say they were: owners that dress their dogs, people who think it's clever not to pronounce the "h" in the word human because they think it sounds British/European, and restaurants that advertise an Atkins menu -- because obviously mankind has been getting its diet wrong since the dawn of civilization, right? Assholes. I eat pasta with zest just about every day.

But with music you could say that my pet peeves stay pretty consistent. Essentially, I have five: 1) self-righteous artists, 2) artists who make what they think are incisive political statements, when they forget that they actually know jack shit about anything politically-oriented, 3) self-petting artists, 4) spoken word lyrics, and 5) noise that poses as art. If a band finds themselves doing or being more than two of the above five things, they can count on me tearing them a new one.

Obviously, all of this preliminary commentary has something to do with The Hold Steady. Obviously, they must have something to do with my pet peeves. Craig Finn, lead vocalist, manages, by himself, to nail categories 1, 2, and 4. The cover of the band's album is some kid with blacked-out eyes giving you the finger. Sweet Jesus, for the red flags to be any more apparent Finn'd have to beat me with them. And chances are he probably would.

Finn refuses to sing. He only spits out gritty lyrical nuggets in spoken-word form. He opens the album, in "Positive Jam," over lightly strummed guitar and parades out mass generalizations for each decade, most of which, in fact, all of which are negative. My favorite: "The '80s almost killed me, let's not recall them quite so fondly." Except the '80s gave rise to some incredible bands. You know, like the fucking Pixies, and oh, a couple dozen others besides. Let's say this much: Finn doesn't do a good job of getting you on his side -- instead even a half-way intelligent listener would hear him and think: "Dude, maybe you just suck at life. Chill out."

In fact, of all the elements of The Hold Steady, Finn is the single one to steadily and consistently try your patience. Even if you can stand his spoken-word delivery, which I can, with enough patience, his almost-endless barrage of criticism and smirking not only leaves The Hold Steady bereft of any potential for personal connection, but becomes awfully predictable. He complains about the '80s on at least three different occasions, seems obsessed with shooting down "indie kids" and hipsters, and spares no one from his self-congratulating sniping. Shit, after 43-odd minutes of this, I just want to listen to a love song. Regardless of his personal conviction, the fact is that, well, I just don't care. And not because I'm apathetic, but, because as Interpol once said, "If your life is such a big joke, then why should I care?" Except for Finn, life is just one big field of hypocrites ripe for mockery. Despite his few moments of cleverness, what he says just becomes numbing mantra.

Thankfully, there are other elements in this band to rescue it; that is, the guitars, drums, and bass, with lead guitarist Tad Kubler leading the assault. He and Judd Counsell, on his nuclear arsenal of a drum kit, rock hard, and in the mind-bending fury of their spotlighted moments, are almost enough to make you forget the invasive vocals. Galen Polivka, meanwhile, usually has his bass drowned in the band's massive hooks, but can hold his own, in certain moments, quiet impressively.

"The Swish" is an early high -- both bass and guitar share hook-duties, and there are three hooks to be had in the course of just over four minutes, each of which is so riff-tastic that it's hard to resist thrusting your fist in the air, or at least, air-guitaring. It signals what will be a generally effective pattern for The Hold Steady: Finn's ever-present chagrin-inducing vocals, and the thrashing of the kit and the lead guitar in nicely sequenced hooks. Kubler alternates between strong guitar lines and power chords with ease, and Counsell is always reliable on the drumkit, though there's a marked lack of inventiveness in some of the tracks, for instance, in "Most People are DJ's," where every cymbal strike and bass drum kick can be predicted from a mile away.

That predictability is a bit of a pitfall. The Hold Steady almost never surprise you. Kubler's solos are nice and artful, but rarely special, and the band's hooks, when they're firing them off, are simple. Finally, the band sometimes eschews hooks entirely, contenting themselves with heavy guitar downstrokes and Finn striding up to the mic to wink at you as he tries to wow you with his sharp wit. Still, they manage to do enough with their relatively predictable elements, configuring their rawk into pretty effective arrangements, despite the fact that most of it has to do with similar patterns, power chords, and solos.

There is one beautiful exception to the Hold Steady's patterns, power chords, and solos: "Certain Songs," which is actually led by a surprisingly delicate piano line into a landslide of distorted guitar and drums, both of which are, here, in their most inventive form on the entire album, snaking around each other in a pristine technical moment. And here, for once, Finn's lyrics are simple and touching, making for the finest vocal moment of the album. Only one other moment on the album comes close to "Certain Songs," and that is the intimate "Killer Parties," which narrates, to the tune of a confident bass line and wafting, reverbing guitar sirens, a personal tale of emptiness and gutted dreams.

It's when it lacks that refreshing turn for the more sincere and gentle that Almost Killed Me seems just a bit more hollow than it should be. And therein is its single major flaw, beyond any simple irritation because of my pet peeves. Rather than focus on Finn and his vitriol, the band should try to focus the zest and grit behind that vitriol into something more tangible and simple. They do it on tracks like "Certain Songs," but not often enough. And, well, the fact that "Certain Songs" stands out so obviously as the shining flag-bearer of Almost Killed Me shows that this Springsteen-meets-Fugazi hybrid does best when they keep their smirks down and slide their hearts just a little bit closer to their sleeves.