Hello everyone! I missed you while I was away. Did you get my postcards? My letters? My care package?

If you did get the care package, would you mind returning the Whoppers? I actually bought them for myself.

Anyway, now that I’ve returned from a fantastic writer’s retreat, I’m ready for action.

But first… let me  thank my amazing guest critics. Their posts were thoughtful, funny, and perceptive, and I loved reading them from afar.

Now back to business: Keane. Glorious Keane. Do you know this band? I mean, beyond “Somewhere Only We Know?”

They’re an assault of musical goodness, and with their new album Perfect Symmetry, they do something that has confounded many, many artists: They expand their sound without losing their identity.

Intrigued? Me too! Let’s keep rocking… after the jump.

Before I discuss Keane’s new record, let me explain why I love them. Two words: melody and grandeur.

Some critics have dissed my British homeboys for being knock-offs of Travis and Coldplay, and yeah, all those groups (plus The Fray and Morning Runner) build soaring pop songs around piano-based hooks.

But if you really listen, you hear the bands are similar but not the same. Coldplay’s songs gravitate toward sound washes and paranoia, for instance, while Travis’ have more humor.

And Keane’s songs? They feel alive. There’s an urgency in “This is the Last Time” and “Crystal Ball” that makes them more than simply pretty. It sounds like the hooks were necessities and the high notes were desperate to be sung.

It’s also noteworthy that composer-keyboardist Tim Rice-Oxley often distorts his instrument to sound unrecognizable, giving the band an odd, distinctive flavor.

That energy and experimentation guide Perfect Symmetry, which expands on Keane’s earlier sound to include more guitars, more guest musicians, and synthesizer riffs straight out of Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. Check out “Spiralling:”

Quite a change from “This is the Last Time,” right? Definitely more like The Thompson Twins. Yet Rice-Oxley retains his penchant for melody, and even though his pinched vocal recalls Robert Smith, singer Tom Chaplin maintains his pure, signature sound.

Moving on, most of these songs sound distinct from each other, which isn’t always true on the first two records. After the brash insistence of “Spiralling,” a song like “Pretend That You’re Alone” is a pleasant romp on a scooter. That’s actually the image I get when I listen to it. It’s the perfect accompaniment for a carefree day in London, where I keep jumping off my Vespa to buy taffy from old ladies in sensible shoes.

Does this mean every song on Perfect Symmetry kicks ass? No. The ballad “Love Is the End” is snooze-o-rama.

Of course, it can be skipped. Why let one limp track deny the pleasure of interesting pop music produced and performed with panache?