Sophomore efforts, that time when a band must reaffirm itself and prove that their debut wasn’t merely a fluke, some collection of happy mistakes that will stand forever as the watermark of their musical contributions. And what band could have more pressure on them than Bloc Party, those darlings of the indie scene who rose to stardom and almost universal acclaim with the release of Silent Alarm?

‘Song for Clay (Disappear Here)’, the strange venture that also fills the opening slot, sees Kele Okereke’s voice stealing up into the falsetto range as the songs builds and finally breaks into a nearly Franz Ferdinand style guitar attack. Several of the first-half tracks, most evident in the frantic energy of ‘Hunting For Witches’, incorporate heavier, darker sentiments drawn from the British experience of the past few years – the London Bombings in 2005, reactions to immigration, drug culture, and a growing resentment towards the emerging youth subculture and its inability to graduate beyond the schoolyard. On this last point Okereke is not able to capture his passions adequately with words, a tendency that transcends the record and its themes, failing exceptionally on ‘Uniform’ – “There was a sense of disappointment as we left the mall, all the young people looked the same. Wearing their masks of cool and indifference…” While this might pass for inspired in sixth grade (or 3rd form as was most likely the case for Okereke), it doesn’t have the same emotional weight over a decade passed those sterile classroom settings. Though, to be honest, the musicianship goes a long way in saving ‘Uniform’ from complete excommunication from my stereo.

As the album progresses the songs breathe a little easier, taking cues more readily from Silent Alarm’s ‘Here We Are’ than the shadowy vigor that infiltrated the album’s early songs. Despite ‘On’ bringing us yet another vampire reference slipping far too easily into Okereke’s delivery, it is also a wonderful turning point, and a welcome, almost nostalgic, return to Bloc Party’s elegant control over layered, mid-tempo numbers. The subtle strings and graceful arrangement even bring a slight sense of poetry to Kele’s proclamation, “You make my tongue loose, I am hopeful and stutter free”, which might not otherwise have been the case.

‘I Still Remember’ may have prompted a number of questions posed to Okereke in recent interviews, all stemming from the underlying meaning of lines like “I kept your tie…” (Did you mean a boy tie or a girl tie?), but ‘Kreuzberg’ is the shining star of the second act – layers of lost fragility synchronized into a powerful, flowing ballad lamenting a meandering life. While ‘Two More Years’ didn’t make the cut for the record, or even give us an early indication of its pace and emotional impact, ‘Kreuzberg’ nearly makes up for this slight, especially as the song pushes further skyward in its final moments.

A Weekend in the City is a solid album from an ever inspiring band, and will probably excel many other releases this year regardless of its failures. Will this record ever see much light beyond the shadows of its formidable predecessor? With the critics - doubtful, but I find it hard to imagine a record that has both ‘Waiting for the 7.18′ and ‘Kreuzberg’ not making someone’s day.