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Excepting their solid debut LP, Songs for Polarbears, Snow Patrol has always been neatly shuffled away in the guilty pleasure bin of my brain. No matter how unabashedly goopy or lyrically absurd they become, they can usually be counted on for a parasitic hook or a hugely expansive chorus that’s really tough to resist unless you actively try. Frontman Gary Lightbody has probably never sung a word that he didn’t try to make sound as archly poetic as the deliberately flowing language of a Shakespearean sonnet. To that end, he is the butt of far too many easy jokes, but I imagine he’s too honest and demonstrative (in a self-absorbed sort of way) to pay it any mind. No matter what anyone thinks of him, all words, whether derisive or fawning, likely slide right through his skull without pausing to rattle. And Snow Patrol is a band that cannot appropriately be scoffed at or adored; when you sell more than ten million albums worldwide on two tries, you can pretty much do whatever you want. No words will displace them atop their mountain.

So how to critique A Hundred Million Suns, the band’s fifth full-length? The members of Snow Patrol declare this to be their best album to date. The emotional tone is decidedly more upbeat than previous albums. Lightbody’s voice and discourse is as ludicrously straight-faced and over-sincere as ever before. And the music is still carefully planned and prone to syrupy swooning. So, if you liked Final Straw and Eyes Open, go pick this up. But be sure to wear a hood so no one spots your nervous purchase. And sandwich the disc between more respectable releases. Oh, to be spotted actively supporting a group as derivative as this one…

I kid, of course, but it can’t possibly be easy to admit defeat in saying you like Snow Patrol. They write songs that if spotted from a distance would inspire head-slapping, but when you find yourself alone with the headphones on and the lights out, the melodies wriggle deep and your toes begin tapping. It’s not difficult to ignore every syllable Lightbody sings—treat it as a mere counterpoint to the pianos and guitars. And when you tune out that most palpable awfulness of A Hunderd Million Suns, it can be a mildly entertaining and enjoyable listen.

There’s nothing complex about the musical arrangements on their attempts at front porch balladry. “Set Down Your Glass” employs an undemanding acoustic guitar pattern repeated and gently tweaked as the song (surprise, surprise) builds in volume and density—though it thankfully sidesteps a stirring climax in favor of calm indifference. “The Planets Bend Between Us” is as intellectually insulting as the title suggests; it’s an overripe, gooey number consisting of…a steadily building musical collage. Intentional or not, their effort to craft another “Chasing Cars” falls flat, but then again I didn’t even like that megahit when I could be alone to celebrate cheese, so what do I know?

When they try and explore their limitations as songwriters, they usually stumble but at least they do it respectably—they’re trying, really they’re trying!—and we can always hope for better returns the next time. “Engines” is hamstrung by the ooh-oohing guitar note-bending that obviously tries to be the song’s soaring hook but ends up becoming its plummeting anchor. Sturdy opener, “If There’s a Rocket Tie Me to It,” dabbles in synth-pop, post-new wave and krautrock, but Lightbody’s sentimental approach threatens to deflate the more synthetic aura of those methods. And the album ends with a 16-minute three-movement piece called “The Lightning Strike,” which is both a laudatory branching adventure and an ultimately disappointing endeavor. It opens with a melody copied from the severe-string composition of “Requiem for a Dream,” proceeds through unexceptional operatic crescendos, adds cyclical Kraftwerk notes, and astonishingly ends with more a whimper than bang. Nice try, but maybe next time. Let’s hope they do: the from-the-get-go shaky formula they cling to can do no more for them.

As for Lightbody’s lyrics, they’re not some random batch of clichés, but weightless delivery and fragile phrasing that shatters upon contact turn almost all of them into hopeless groaners. “I will race you to the waterside/And from the edge of Ireland shout out loud/So they could hear it in America/It’s all for you.” “There’s no truth at all/Poking out the child eyes/Of ancient gods.”  “Use me forever/Use me for rocket fuel/I’ll be air/I’ll be fire.” “The shells crack under our shoes/Like punctuation points/The planets bend between us/A hundred million suns and stars.” “I'm folded in the bread you made/You're cold until my body bathes.” I could go on and on, but I’ll spare you. A long lost Hendrix riff or George Harrison arrangement couldn’t save these statements.

So long as Snow Patrol continues to strive for a more sophisticated and artful sound, I’ll keep listening. But this continues the downward trend evinced from their last two major label albums. Lightbody needs to plant his feet back on the ground and figure out how to turn a phrase without sounding alternately irrelevant or soppy, and the musicians should learn that their ballads just aren’t working. But if they take a break, clear their heads, and press on, their talents may reveal themselves more fully. The perfectly-plotted “rock edge” they fashioned on songs like “Wow,” “Hands Open” and “Whatever’s Left” is probably a bit too Tonic for their own good, but those are still preferable to the sweetly-strummed cookie-cutter ache. Knowing their success, A Hundred Million Suns may very well sell a hundred million units, but they’d be better off shipping a mere dozen packages of better songs.