On his two earlier, indielabel albums, Robbie Fulks struck convincing blows for the alt-country insurgency with his subversive wit and urbane roots rock. Let's Kill Saturday Night, by comparison, is a letdown, a serious-minded record that couldn't inflict a flesh wound on your weekend. With a few exceptions, like the heavy-handed "God Isn't Real," Fulks' irreverence has gone south, and that doesn't mean below the Mason-Dixon line. He seems convinced that a major-label debut calls for major statements, so Let's Kill Saturday Night – co-produced by Rick Will, who is used to taming the likes of No Doubt and AC/DC – exhibits a weighty self-consciousness with little of its predecessors' spry, whimsical bite.

The strain of Fulks trying to alter his persona really shows. In "Caroline" and "She Must Think I Like Poetry," he reaches beyond his vocal range and growls unconvincingly. Compare these exertions with his smooth delivery and the in-the-pocket playing on 1997's South Mouth, coproduced with a light, simpatico touch by Lou Whitney of the Skeletons. Occasionally, Fulks also lapses into the generic. The title song is a standard-issue call to honky-tonk revelry; the wordy "Little King" trips over itself trying to be a hard-rocking anthem. And "Pretty Little Poison" is an overheated duet with Lucinda Williams, swamped by guitar histrionics.

Ultimately, Let's Kill Saturday Night miscasts Fulks' considerable talent. Memo to Geffen: Bring back Lou Whitney. (RS 797)

PARKE PUTERBAUGH