During the 1990’s, "Saturday Night Live" had an undeniably good run that gave us arguably the best skits since the glory days of the 1970’s that included Chevy Chase, Steve Martin, and John Belushi. The solid return in the 90’s boasted such characters as Chris Farley’s motivational speaker Matt Foley, Tim Meadows’ smooth talking ladies man, Leon Phelps, and even Darrell Hammond’s breakout impersonation we all love to quote, Sean Connery. The five years since the turn of the century, however, have not been quite as kind to the fans of the sketch comedy, as more notable than any of the sketches or its characters was Ashlee Simpson’s improvisational jig when her lip synching was exposed on national television.

Now, Ashlee Simpson, unlike her sister Jessica, cannot sing for a damn, but if she could, she would probably be fronting indie rock band Waterproof Blonde. I’m not trying to insult lead singer Rachel Hagen, but on slower tempo tracks such as “Hold Me Down,” that’s just the feel I get from her voice. A lot of the album features her seemingly restrained by the tempo of the band surrounding her, but it’s in those moments that she’s able to tone things down herself and make it work. The middle songs on this album show an almost pensive Hagen; the slowly plodding songs just don’t seem to suit her as well as when she can really let her voice show its full potential. They’re still decent songs, but it’s moments like in “Supermodel Craving” where she feels most at home, among the edgy guitars and big choruses.

The lower-key songs shouldn’t be written off, however, as Hagen sounds almost seductive on “Tackle Queen” as she asks “I’ve got the keys to the doors upstairs, can we make it to the mezzanine? / Oh make me beg, you know what I like.” What starts off with some brisk guitar-work ends six minutes later with a slowly culminating repetition of “You know you wanna spend the night.” The pace change works well, as it’s one of the better songs that The Morning After The Night Before has to offer.

The album has a good flow, be it the slower, more vocal-driven songs, or the tracks steered by crunching guitars and Hagen wailing away. Where things steer into trouble is with redundancy. Save the last track, at about the halfway point on this disc you’ve really heard all that there is to be offered by Waterproof Blonde. It’s not so much a lack of diversity, but the songwriting seems to lose its luster after so long, making the songs just mold together, one after another. Hagen has a strong voice, but nothing memorable enough to save some of the weaker songs from being considered filler.

If you want to get your life back on the right track, and stop using all your paper for rolling doobies, this is probably not the album for you. If you’re out of courvoisier and need to find a nice lady for the night, this is probably not the album for you, especially not if that lady happens to be the mother of one Alex Trebek. If you need a good mid-tempo female-fronted indie rock act to hold you over, this could be good for a few spins. But enough of that, I’m off to find out just what state it is that starts with Californ.