All four members are songwriters, tending not to collaborate too often but rather working separately and convening when the tunes are closer to their final form. This isn't to say that they never bang out a song together in the studio, but from what I've read of the band, that technique isn't really standard operating procedure for how they get things done. Mostly it's "work separately, and then share later."

However they do it, it seems to be working: Sloan has kept the same lineup since first making waves with the 1993 debut Smeared (Murderecords/Geffen). While so many of their former peers from the so-called Alternative Nation - or whatever the marketing departments wished to call it at the time - have either exploded or imploded, the seemingly ageless lads of Sloan are celebrating the release of their ninth full-length.

Hmmm, what other four-piece also boasted songwriting contributions from each member? I think it began with a B…. Now, I don't want to make any direct Beatles comparisons here, but I'd also be a complete fool to fail to mention that Sloan have every right to brag about having just as many tunesmiths in their band as the Fab Four. And we're not talking about some sort of Lennon/McCartney hegemony with the occasional peep from Harrison and Starr thrown in for garnish, either. Rather, Parallel Play offers three songs apiece from Jay Ferguson, Chris Murphy, and Patrick Pentland, while Andrew Scott fills out the baker's dozen with four contributions.

For those who fear that having multiple songwriters could be more of a liability than an asset, fret not: in the case of Sloan, the many-cooks-at-the-pot thing works marvelously. Mainly, I suppose, because we're actually talking about a bunch of separate pots, all ultimately coming together as part of a big dining sequence. (Can you tell I miss Top Chef already?) Food metaphors aside, I believe Sloan's greatest strength is that they are making albums that allow each member to pursue his own creative vision, and yet still they manage to sound so impressively cohesive in spite of the roaming and rambling.

Pentland shows off his harder power-pop tendencies with opener "Believe In Me," an urgent chugger with a deliciously Brian May-like guitar intro, nice and jaggedly buzzy. The Queen likenesses mostly end there, however, especially once the hot glow of furious organ fills enter the picture. Instead, there's a hint of Nuggets-era psychedelic garage-pop, albeit without the derailed vocals.

One of Pentland's other tracks, "The Other Side," could very well be a force of nature, thanks to its John Bonham-huge drums and big-dumb-and-brilliant cock-rocking guitar, along with richly layered vocal harmonies that keep the unfolding drama blowing overhead. If I've made the song sound a bit ridiculous, well, I suppose it is - but in that irrefutable don't-fight-it/feel-it way. Sure, maybe higher thinking goes out the window for a few minutes, but who cares? You'll get it back, right? In the meantime, I'd rather settle into a good foot-stomping beat while Pentland announces, "There's a certain kind of feeling on the other side." Still not sure what he means, but I don't doubt him for a second.

Ferguson's considerably sweeter pipes are thrillingly spotlighted on his positively bubbling-over "Cheap Champagne." Brighter-than-sunshine "ba-ba-dop" shouts straight out of the Bacharach/David songbook, lusciously smooth harmonies, and a cool-jazz guitar solo which reminded me of the early days of Aztec Camera - what's not to love? Another Ferguson composition, "Witch's Wand," offers equally infectious harmonies, along with a surefire way to sucker this Guardian scribe into surrendering his heart: the ol' reliable falsetto "woo" backing vocal. Throw in some air-smacking handclaps and a jittery rhythm, and there's no turning back, I'm afraid.

Murphy's first offering on Parallel Play, "All I Am Is All You're Not," is decidedly looser in feel than much of the rest of the disc, due in part to a production which feels more "mid-fi" compared to the hi-fi fullness found elsewhere. Not quite as sweet in tone as Ferguson, but not as rough as Pentland or Scott, he is in a sense the liaison between them all. Thus, the song begins with a gentle piano introduction of which Ferguson must have approved, while the edgier guitar passages would fit just fine on a Pentland or Scott composition.

"I'm Not a Kid Anymore" lets Murphy unleash a wondrously jaded sneer over a snotty piano-pounding slice of garage-rock. Ever struggled with reconciling getting older with the need to stay hip? Consider Murphy's meditations on the subject: "Once upon a time I was on the scene / An attitude and a jacket of jean / These days I'm up to my ass in routine / Another day, another duller."

Scott re-makes Sloan into an aggro-incarnation of the Modern Lovers on "Emergency 911," a stuttering, sputtering handclap-happy garage-rocker in which our songwriter comes across as a wigged-out Jonathan Richman. There's something in the offhand-but-heartfelt delivery here, which brings to mind Richman, even if the lyrics themselves don't shimmer with the same bright-eyed innocence: "I don't want no police / I don't want no police around my door / No I don't want no police / I don't want no policeman creeping around my front door."

Most intriguingly, Scott's "Down in the Basement" displays another curious resemblance: Bob Dylan. With its shuffling, stumbling rhythm, garage-blues guitar, and unstoppable churning organ, the similarities to Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited blueprint are striking. On top of the instrumental rumble and tumble, Scott delivers an occasionally nasal, consistently fevered rant - and best of all, he does so in a fashion which is faithful without succumbing to mere imitation. On a disc full of highlights, it is this track which at the moment holds me the most spellbound - I'm curious to see whether Sloan might head in this direction again. Having absorbed the many surprises of Parallel Play, I'm tempted to think anything is possible for these guys at this point.

Here's a recent performance of "Witch's Wand":