The Frames have been fighting it out for 15 years, issuing albums that explode in the Czech Republic and nowhere else, go platinum in Galway but can't get noticed in the U.S.A. They should finally get their due with Burn the Maps. It's the determined Irish combo's first studio effort for Anti-, the Epitaph signature label that showcases such disparate and discerning acts as Joe Henry, the Locust, and Jolie Holland, and Glen Hansard and the lads fit in there just fine — Anti-'s an oddly shaped place, but it offers artists room to move. The same applies to the Frames' music, which on Maps swings from the barbed, railing guitar rage of the Pixies nod "Underglass" to songs where a whispering, almost self-conscious Hansard stands next to roaring chorus set pieces that bring the band's full complement of guitars and sweeping fiddle to the table. In "Fake" he delivers the bitter central question — "Come on the guy's a fake/What do you love him for?" — as both a scream and a plea, while "Happy" makes incredible use of studio mixing to put the vocals in one ear, lingering harmonies in the other, and layers of acoustic guitar, swelling strings, and even a little electric squelch under the whole bit. That's the opener, and it brings listeners into the Frames' world of raw elegance. "Ship Caught in the Bay" starts with gentle percussion and a faraway melodic lilt, but drops in stuttering treated percussion near the three-minute mark for an atmospheric effect not unlike what the Doves do so well. It's also a bridge to Burn the Maps' final portion, three lengthy tracks that essay the Dirty Three's epic sway, build from aching acoustic guitar into a sort of comforting love song ("Wake up/It's your love calling," goes "Suffer in Silence"), and drift away on swirling fiddle and tinkling piano. Sometimes it seems like the Frames are holding back on Maps. The single "Finally" is one of the record's most deliberate moments, but it could have let Colm Mac Con Lomaire's fiddle hit a little harder. And though "Dream Awake"'s slow build is standard operating procedure for the band, it doesn't really climax as much as it plateaus. These minor missteps, however, don't lessen the album's gravity. Burn the Maps is an elemental journey that tugs at the heart and sticks around in the mind — just as the Frames have been doing for years. 　　 　　　Ireland's biggest band (even rivaling U2) has built an impressive North American fan base from scratch. They put on an incredibly dynamic show and their constant touring, both on their own and with Damien Rice, Calexico, and The New Pornographers, has paid off to the point where they sell out large clubs in all the major cities. This is their fifth studio album and first for Anti. It's also their most cohesive. The band have reconciled their various personalities into one volatile organism, synthesizing gorgeous melancholy with full-blown anger. "The Frames sing about love and death and revelation. They pick folky ballads full of quiet longing; they seethe and mourn; they build crescendos and taper down to fiddle tunes and build again, making hearts surge every time"--NY Times.