Ted Leo is angry. Still. Caustic, cynical, embittered. He does not need to be emboldened by a gradual turn against the government to release an album full of political vitriol and cynicism; he has been doing it for 20 years. For a man with links to the ranting political invective of the DC hardcore scene it is hardly a surprise. But instilled within Leo’s sound is his inherent ability to write a hook, his prolific mind brimming with catchy tunes, constantly carried by his trademark falsetto over an indie punk-pop base. It is more of the same from Leo et al, drawing us in with his captivating songmanship, and then holding us down and telling us what we don’t want to hear.

The album opens with a media montage described as ‘Fourth World War’, 35 seconds of unintelligible foreign-language news reports over taut drumming, evoking an agitated climate of turmoil and war. ‘Sons of Cain’ breaks out immediately following, pure Pharmacists, wire-tight drumming and buzzing guitars tear along, Leo’s voice flying over the top, providing the song’s only melody. It is a contrast to the previous track, but a perfect start to Living With The Living; straight-out Ted Leo & The Pharmacists M.O. and a lyrical introduction to the rest of the album: “But, alone, I’ve got to sing just to exist/And resist/So you're gone now, and who's to blame?/Left down here amongst the sons of Cain”.

If the album highlights have one distinguishing feature, it is their seamless merging of punk aesthetic and an antithetical depth of sound and emotion. In the past Leo’s songs have had an integral punk economy, sometimes to the songs’ detriment. His puritanical adherence to this aesthetic left some tracks sounding thin and robbed of their potential – a result of the lack of ‘luxurious’ embellishments such as layering or additional instrumentation. Living With The Living sees a continuation of Shake the Streets richer sound, with more experimentation across genres. Fugazi’s Brendan Canty is back on production, battling to retain the punk/hardcore ideal within the song’s natural tendency towards pop hooks. Tracks such as ‘Army Bound’ could do with a good meal, whereas ‘La Costa Brava’ is their richest offering yet, strutting on the right side of clichéd American FM guitar rock.

This is not a major criticism of Leo, who has come under fire for developmental inertia in the past. The man could write a pop hook in his sleep, so it is good to see him experimenting with a more expansive sound: ‘Colleen’ showcases Leo’s ability to mould a great Brit-pop love song; a tin whistle and electric fiddle drive the esoteric lyrics of ‘A Bottle of Buckie’s Scottish jig. Despite this experimentation, the album highlight ‘Who Do You Love’ is classic Pharmacists – up-tempo guitar rock packed with staccato power-chords, and Leo’s melodic falsetto. As per Leo, the song reveals more when the lyrics are analysed, dripping in cynicism, it is another of his velvet-gloved attacks on American society: “And so goes the most of our freedom of speech: we live for the city, we work for the beach”.

If there is one track that truly demonstrates this anger, it is ‘Bomb. Repeat. Bomb’; a (strangely aimed) attack on the sterility of modern fighter-pilot warfare. Spitting pure, blistering vitriol, Leo flings spoken lyrics over a DC-hardcore track full of scratching guitars: “No need for face-to-face/or even to put a perfectly spit-shined brand new pair of leather boots on the dirty, dusty ground/Bomb. Repeat. Bomb”. It takes time to get used to, and taken in the context of Leo’s oeuvre of politicism, is an acceptable experiment.

Apart from the sharp ‘World Stops Turning’ and the gentle ‘The Toro and The Toreador’, the tracks post the shining track eight, ‘Costa La Brava’, are dismissible re-hashes and misguided experimentations. This demo-like collection of material seems to have sunk together to the bottom of the album, weighing the entire proceeding down and adding an unnecessary 20 minutes. In addition, there is a bonus disc curiously included with another six songs that did not make the cut. At one-hour long (on its own), the album is unfortunately bloated.

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists have again proven their ability to write incredibly catchy power-pop. They know how to craft three-minute pop gems, and Living With The Living is full of them. Only on the tracks that deal with war and society does Leo’s pop-compass seem to waver. This is certainly not a criticism of his decision to write protest songs, more performers, especially Australian, could follow Leo’s lead, criticising illegal wars and risking commercial airplay. It is great to see a performer not mellowed by age, his fire not tempered by 20 years of recording, still refusing major labels and their watered-down suggestions. He should simply know by now that one man cannot capture the enormity of war, let alone on one album, and be prepared to cull his offering accordingly.