she sings, "My heart is black/And my body is blue."

If once the band's songs fizzed like champagne bubbles, now there's a murky undertow. On "Marvel Hill," the bass rumble threatens to overwhelm Persson, who protests, "I don't need this"; machines grind like trash compactors on "Paralyzed"; and the watery guitar that introduces "Hanging Around" is eventually buried beneath boulder-size chunks of noise.

But the Cardigans are still at their best when trafficking in pleasant melodies with a subversive surprise tucked inside. They hit the mark on "Explode," which floats in on a cloud of lullaby chords. "Ease your trouble, we'll pay them double/Not to look at you for a while," Persson purrs. "Explode or implode – we will take care of it." She sings like a guardian angel but talks like a hit man. (RS 800)

GREG KOT