by Emily Tartanella

Ah, the second album. We know you well. From the Stone Roses to the Strokes, British music has had its share of sophomore slumps. Now, the boys who "just want to make girls dance" will have to make that dance floor just as tempting yet again.

Because, let's face it, a lot is riding on this album. There can be little debate that when Franz Ferdinand arrived on the scene in 2004 they brought with them a new wave of rock. Britpop, mach 2. The resurrection of Art Rock. Call it what you will, Franz Ferdinand sparked something among us, and they've become the prototype for dozens of new bands, each wanting to "do a Franz." So if these golden boys of indie-gone-big fail, there's plenty willing to take their place.

Well, is it time for Franz to retreat oh-so-artfully beneath a rock somewhere? To nurse their wounds as the disco plays yet another remix of "Take Me Out"? Is this album the proverbial assassination that will mark the end of our current indie-rock Renaissance?

Nope. Not even close.

Instead You Could Have it So Much Better is crammed full of more tunes than Kaiser Chiefs, more swagger than Oasis, and more sex, drugds and rock-n-roll than Babyshambles.

But that would be nothing if Franz just rehashed their debut with a few lyrics of tourbus discontent. Instead, they take their old format (dancey, arty, and far too clever) and amp up the riffs, dirty up the content and (gasp!) bring out the ballads.

Opener "The Fallen" just proves how much this band has grown, taking a story of a friend-of-the-Franz who believes himself resurrected as Christ (after all, the initial title was "Robert Anderson is Christ.") Yes, the lyrics are memorable, but they're not why this song is so shocking. The difference is in the sound. And what a difference, gone is the slightly tinny production on songs like "Tell Her Tonight" or "Come On Home." The problem with Franz Ferdinand is that some songs sounded more like sketches than fully realized works. By comparison, You Could Have it So Much Better is an oil painting.

This same glossy, powerful production comes up again and again in the album. "Evil and Heathen" threatens to throttle the listener with its bassline and slyly menacing lines "Fill your thirst/And drink a curse/To the death of death instead." Gothically glorious hedonism is everywhere, from the disco-punk menace of "Outsiders" to the Bowie-gone-Cure rush of "I'm Your Villain," which manages to be pure, undiluted sexuality. "I see the passion emerge," Alex croons in his best withering call, "I'm your villain." "You're the Reason I'm Leaving" struts in but loses its footing, becoming a meandering middle-finger to an ex-lover. The unabashedly superb title track becomes a rallying call for disaffected youths everywhere. It may be the most political Franz Ferdinand get, but when Alex assures "I refuse to be a cynical goon/ Get up! Get up!" you know he's not just talking about dancing at the club.

"This Boy" and "What You Meant" feature the heavily styled, punk in a suit act that put those girls on the dance floor over a year ago. "This Boy" in particular crashes breathlessly into a rant of "I want a car! I want a car!" Shallow? Perhaps, in its depiction of characters living for the moment and relishing their excess. But it's brilliant, so forgive Franz Ferdinand for not being obtuse. In fact their candor is refreshing but not surprising, drug references creep up in almost every song and the line "Your famous friend, well I blew him before you" isn't exactly subtle. "Do You Want To?" (the song that, while no "Take Me Out," still rotates around your head in a regular basis) takes voyeurism to new heights, all over a sugar-rush of a beat. "Well That Was Easy" is (surprise, surprise), hip, catchy, and begging to be played at every in the know club for the next five years. It's saved from boredom by its nifty, slowed down chorus and dark lyrics of drug abuse and loneliness. Angular riffs a la Gang of Four pop up often, but Franz somehow make them their own.

But it's the slower numbers that are the most surprising here. Perhaps "Eleanor Put Your Boots On" bears the most striking change from the rest of the album, doing B-Side Beatles with subtle grace and beauty. True, ushering your lover to jump off a rollercoaster isn't exactly traditional love song material, but it's all the better for that. Over a gentle strumming guitar, Alex pleads "Leap and let the jet stream set you down/I could be there when you land," and unexpectedly, hearts are broken. Flimsy number "Fade Together" wants to be taken seriously but just feels malnourished and underdone. Future single "Walk Away," while not being a ballad necessarily, still creates a soundscape of slow, melodic beauty with a slightly amped-up chorus. Surrealism triumphs in a song like this, with Stalin smiling, Hitler laughing, and Radio 4 static. Oh, boys, you sure know how to charm the ladies.

Perhaps it's a testament to this album just how charming it really is. Your feet still dance, your head still shakes, and maybe you get a little choked up at the end of "Eleanor." Maybe not, but the point is that Franz are just as danceable as ever. They've grown up and gotten famous, but they haven't forgotten what brought them to the top. True, at times the production gets a bit repetitive, and there's only so much dance!art!rock! you can handle in one sitting. And no, You Could Have it So Much Better isn't going to change the world. But that's okay. Right now, amidst all the chaos this generation's been through, it's nice to have a band that knows how to throw a party.

So, who's next? Bloc Party, Razorlight, M.I.A all have to prove themselves worthy of the hype. As for Franz Ferdinand? Don't worry, I have a feeling they're going to be fine.