With Evil Urges, My Morning Jacket's profile has now been raised to mega. A band made classic by way of mega-creation, mega-drive and mega-vision. It seems like only yesterday we were touting the big-sky psychedelia of It Still Moves, then the risky experimentation found on Z, and now that they've rightfully been established as the world's greatest live band (a claim with which I'd have to agree), where is there left to go? That question can be answered with a sizable chunk of Urges, a mega-album filled with swirling and stewing guitars, jam- and string-heavy epics and haunting wide-screened folk. And while much of the record sounds familiar, MMJ manages to dodge every preconceived bullet shot at them without completely getting out of the way.

Over the years, Jim James and the boys have absorbed all their united loves with grace; here they go beyond. They assuredly shine from the roots up, having mastered the language of Neil Young, the Band and the Allman Brothers, twisting twang and noodly dinosaur riffs to a massive level of enjoyment. In that mode, things may get redundant when the country-tinged "Sec Walkin'" precedes the Everly Brothers hosted, '50s prom feel of "Two Halves," but in the context of the wildly eclectic whole of Urges, both become unique puzzle pieces. Likewise "Thank You Too" and "Smokin' from Shootin'" tend to form out of retro soft-rock motifs. The former is a breezy, sickly sweet ballad that is potentially James' finest pop song to date, while the latter slowly bubbles into a Floydian space-out. Despite the band's penchant for apostrophes and a lead foot on the pedal steel, they always conjure an atmosphere that shows evidence that the band continues to grow.

It's when Urges goes for broke that it's safe to call this one a monster. "Remnants" barrels in like a plains tornado, James gasping for air, almost out of breath. It certainly sounds like a stretch—mammoth metal riffs buttressed with bittersweet introspection— but it's the closest they've come in the studio to capturing the sonic monolith they command on stage. "Touch Me I'm Going to Scream, Pt. 2" flickers and throbs in a stunning cycle of desert soul, and "The Librarian," though including some questionably goofy lyrics, is a creepy, yet hypnotic pleasure.

An album this sprawling isn't without missteps (i.e. Tusk). James' inner-Prince can't save the embarrassing "Highly Suspicious," and "Aluminum Park" is a romp without purpose. To say the least though, they're likely to abandon the falsetto next time round. But these cuts do little to dampen the spirit of anyone indulging in Urge's mountains and quasars. For My Morning Jacket, these are special times, and this, perhaps their first masterpiece, perfectly reflects that notion.
Kevin J. Elliott