I like to think Incubus' "Megalomaniac," off the group's new album A Crow Left of the Murder, is about Scott Stapp.

I'm sure I'm not alone when I say really can't stand that guy. He's definitely neither Jesus nor Elvis, and should "step down," as the song says. It's about time someone's finally telling him off in musical form, at least in my head.

I also like to think that Incubus hasn't been in a state of decline since the release of Make Yourself.

But I'm not sure if that's true based on A Crow Left of the Murder.

It's clear that Brandon Boyd and company, including new bassist Ben Kenney, like what the band's done so far and have mostly quit trying to come up with new stuff. Either that or Sony has quashed Incubus' creative spirit, enslaving the band to a life of duplicating past hits. It doesn't really matter which -- all that matters is that the tracks on this album sound like wussy versions of old songs from Fungus Amongus, S.C.I.E.N.C.E., Make Yourself and Morning View with new lyrics.

Boyd even sings what the listener is thinking in "Beware! Criminal," when he spits out, "We do the same thing every night, I swear I've heard this song before," in his characteristic staccato style. Two points for the "puppets of those Sony bastards" side.

Most of the energy of previous albums has been sapped from A Crow, and in a strange vocal decision, Boyd switches to a higher pitched voice instead of sticking to yelling, which is something he's pretty good at. Sure, it's kinder to the listener's ears and speakers, but it's too civilized.

This album is missing the thing that made Incubus notable in the first place -- sarcastic, throbbing, fully fleshed out, hey-maybe-you-should-pop-a-Valium songs of the past. It's not even a growth issue of the band transcending its earlier style. It's like Incubus calmed down for Morning View, then forgot how to crank out the energy for its latest, most cynical offering.

Part of the problem is the band's subordination to Boyd's voice. The listener can easily decipher each and every word that comes out of his mouth because the instruments are so muted. No longer do bass lines or Mike Einziger's guitar riffs command center stage. And honestly, no one has ever said Incubus is a particularly profound band, so it's probably better not to hear lyrics like, "We'll behave like animals, swing from tree to tree." I couldn't help but think of Bloodhound Gang's "Bad Touch" solely because of the words.

"Here in My Room," one of the album's two ballads, is tired and boring. This ode to a one-night stand is no "I Miss You" or "Anti-Gravity Love Song." On a more positive note, it's the one song salvaged by its crystal clear lyrics: "So thank you for being 'that' kind of girl." No one can deny a shout-out to a skank.

"Priceless" hearkens back to the era of Primus-inspired Incubus songs, which makes it stand out of A Crow, but its drum intro sounds almost exactly like Blink-182's "Feeling This." It's just not good to sound like Blink-182.

That's not to say the entire album sucks -- a couple Hoobastank fans told me they really like it. But they're Hoobastank fans. Come on. They're used to hearing the same song over and over again.

In all seriousness, I can't hate this album because it's not awful. It's just not quite good enough, given Incubus' earlier music. But I can't recommend it, either, unless you're into Sony drones or Hoobastank or imaginary Scott Stapp bashing.