Bedlam in Goliath, while not as directionless or weirdly emotionless as Mars Volta’s previous efforts, is not going to win over detractors of the band or turn off their existing fans. Bedlam is an album that clings unabashedly to the status quo, inexcusable for a band that fancies itself as progressive.

Only the most masochistic of Mars Volta fans will still bother to try and decipher what, if anything, the album is about. This time there is a supposedly a loosely-connected story featuring a haunted Oujia board, but if you’re looking for cohesion and clarity, you might want to pick up Tommy instead. “Aberinkula” begins with lead singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s trademark caterwaul, shrieking over familiar swirling keyboards and a jazzed out, Zeppelin-ish guitar riff. That beginning is interesting enough, but the song just kind of trails on, never building on or releasing any of its momentum. “Metatron” follows with eight minutes of—well, basically the same thing. There are the usual bursts of odd time signatures, stop/starts, and freak-out breakdowns. Thankfully on the grooving “Ouroborous” the formula works well, and the song maintains it’s intensity for its full six and a half minutes, where oddly enough shorter songs such as “Wax Simulacra” and “Tourniquet Man” start to lose their appeal each about a minute in.

At least they listened to some past criticisms when making Bedlam - many of the ambient, static sounding bits have been removed from this album, meaning you’re probably slightly less likely to doze off during those parts when nothing is happening. New drummer Thomas Pridgen keeps up his end of the bargain, delivering fierce fills and playing with nonstop intensity, but it isn’t enough to save this album, which marks Mars Volta’s further descent into boring prog-rock noodling. As someone who loved Cedric and Omar when they made At The Drive-In relentlessly innovative and groundbreaking at every step, it saddens me to see this step into just merely “good enough.”

The Mars Volta’s career parallels that of director M. Night Shalaymanin a lot of ways. Their first album, Deloused in the Comatorium, was, like the Sixth Sense, an innovative and eminently entertaining work, one that took risks but also knew its limitations. His next film, Unbreakable, is, like Frances the Mute, more uneven, not quite sure of itself or what it’s trying to accomplish. Eventually you come to Lady in the Water.

To give The Mars Volta some credit, their fourth effort is not quite as bad as Shalamalan’s steaming abortion of a film, but it’s certainly not boding well for the future.

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