Now that every major label has its token Green Day and then some, pop punk threatens to become as played out as grunge. That's why Smoking Popes' Born to Quit comes as a minor revelation, emphasizing songwriting smarts over alienated attitude, showcasing a punk band that dares to swoon instead of sneer. The Popes are fans of the saloon crooners and country weepers in their parents' record collections, and those influences are readily apparent in the luscious, full-bodied cry of singer and guitarist Josh Caterer.

It's a collision of opposites that shouldn't work but does, most persuasively on "Need You Around," which starts off at a frisky gallop with insistent drums and thick, fuzzed-up guitars and soon becomes a stampede. Caterer luxuriates in the agony of the unrequited, falling further behind the beat with every hesitant line.

It's all over in a blink. In fact, the entire album, 10 songs recorded on the cheap and released by a Chicago independent label a year ago before being picked up and reissued by Capitol, is over in 28 punk-rock minutes. The Popes – a foursome from rural McHenry County, Illinois – revel in the pop verities: well-crafted melodies, danceable tempos and lovelorn lyrics.

Born to Quit connects the romantic values of '50s doo-wop and easy-listening records with the amplified aggression of the '80s. Caterer recycles conceits worthy of the Marcels and Henry Mancini as he confesses his love to a watchful moon ("Midnight Moon") and laments the old folks who "say we're too young" ("Mrs. You and Me"), but he never sounds ridiculous doing it. That's because his melodies are so relentless and because drummer Mike Felumlee is so zealous he knocks the stuffing out of everything in his path.

The Popes are reaching for a version of punk that's large enough to accommodate both Johnny Ramone and Johnny Mathis. When they find it on this engaging album, they hang on for dear life. (RS 715)

GREG KOT