ARCHERS OF LOAF : Rolling Stone

The defining moment of the Archers of Loaf's post-midnight concert in Columbia came late in their 15-song set. When the Chapel Hill, N.C., quartet launched into "Greatest of All Time," the song carried a weight of slow, epic sadness that made it sound like an obituary for indie-rock despite its thrashing rhythm. Frontman Eric Bachmann's chant that "the underground is overcrowded" only underscored the finality of the sentiment and -- unwittingly -- raised questioned about the Archers' own place in the underground.

\par \par Less self-consciously ironic than Pavement and less pop-minded than bands like Number One Cup, the Archers nevertheless straddle that same smudgy line between inspired amateurism and sloppy professionalism. And while that approach has long been a cherished tenet of the indie-rock aesthetic, it also makes for music that's fundamentally hit-or-miss. The Archers generally hit more than they miss, but when they do miss their intended target (whatever that may be), it's by a wide margin.

\par \par So it was with the band's performance Friday night -- a grab bag of tricks, treats, and taunts. Odd licks and pesky sonic goblins popped out of nowhere before skittering off into space or rippling down darkened valleys of feedback (a good thing). During other, murkier moments, however, clumsy riffs tripped and sprawled headlong onto the floor like so many disoriented Royal Trux guitar solos (a bad thing). And it was often difficult to forgive Bachmann's tuneless croak, which rendered every lyric without any variation in texture or emotion.

\par \par Live, as on album, Bachmann sounded as if his vocal cords were running through a meat grinder -- an aspect of the band's performance that consistently threatened to undermine even its best songs. A case in point was the aptly titled "Vocal Shrapnel," in which Bachmann's ham-fisted howls nearly pounded the tune's silvery dissonance to a gray pulp.

\par \par Overall, though, the Archers embodied a kind of underdog chic that proved somehow endearing -- and effective. Even when they were rocking out, as they did on "Web In Front" and "Bumpo," an odd sense of ultimate, inevitable defeat haunted them, making their songs all the more compelling. It's as if the band members had butted up against an unscalable prison wall, then decided to revel in the hopelessness of it all until the floodlights found them.

\par \par When the band played well, it managed to find beauty in the unlikeliest of places. On "Acromegaly," for example, the Archers broke the tail end of the tune into a pensive psychedelic coda that seemed to shimmer on forever. And the superbly slinking "Slow Worm" exuded palpable drama and cool threat.

\par \par The Archers polished off th