I originally planned to expound on the frustrations of Serj Tankian's first true solo record in this review, except it's actually more boring than frustrating. Look, I'm a kid of the 90s. I lived through nü-metal, and I'd do it again in a pinch if it meant another band as brilliant and creative as System of a Down would come to exist. Would I wade through countless Static-X and Drowning Pool clones for another Toxicity? Oh, yeah. The same way 80s children clung tightly to their Faith No More records to ward off all things Aquanet, I viewed System of a Down (SOAD for brevity's sake) as a rare exception for the "I hate everything and long to sport vinyl pants" set that inverted expectations with so much surprise genre-splicing that pop accidentally took notice. The songwriting was so tight and half their audience so readymade (remember, they bought the Scream 3 soundtrack!) that breaking pop was only a matter of time. I mean, the hit was called "Chop Suey!" - punctuation intact. This was clearly fanbase-bumrushing-the-mainstream territory, as opposed to a fluke smash.

Then the expert guitarist got a little power-mad and grabbed himself more and more parts on SOAD's records. No longer content with quirky interjections or the occasional harmony vocal, we witnessed the nadir of Daron Malakian's tyranny on the unfortunately Grammy-nodded ballad "Lonely Day," probably the last hit SOAD will ever record together.

So I was kind of looking forward to a SOAD album without the annoying little imp by the time word of Elect the Dead went around, when the single "Empty Walls" stopped me. It would almost be pretty or epic if Tankian hadn't done this sort of thing ten times over already: nonsensical title, half-time verses balladeered in a faux-operatic style before rushing into the "unpredictable" chorus, which is uncomfortably wordier than ever I might add. This was the same guy who made "War?" - a harrowing portrait of a third world gone mad that staked the whole of its power on one perfect declamation, "we will fight the heathens." The coda was an intense contrast of palm-muted dexterity with Tankian shouting war cries over an imagined podium. The coda of "Empty Walls" relies on the addition of one "fucking" and one "goddamn" to get his point across about "bodies burning" (rhymes with "full of yearning"). It's a silly song that half gets by on the comforts of familiar noise, an advantage shared by Jimmy Eat World's recent "Big Casino," and it's fucking sad that it's the best thing Elect the Dead has to offer.

When he's not bashing the listener over the head with political truths the average American realized after Katrina hit ("The Unthinking Majority") and forgot again by the time Saddam Hussein went on trial six weeks later, Tankian is channeling the revenge fantasies of fresh roadkill ("Honking Antelope"), and those are Elect the Dead's good songs. Everything else merely speeds up, slows down and injects less genre exercises than expected (the R&B on System's "Vicinity of Obscenity," the last great thing he did, must have been the final frontier). Then there's predictable attempt to lighten the hyper-obviousness with the "random" and "humorous" aside of titling a track "Beethoven's Cunt." Then there's the four-years-late title tune, a piano ballad. Tankian beams that this is the best stuff he's ever done. Daron Malakian, come back, all is forgiven.