Plenty of musicians have been on the Portland music scene longer than Doug Cowan and Bullyclub. Perhaps none of them, however, has stayed on such an even keel — releasing three albums over the course of nine years, there seemed to be a rhythm to the indie-pop-rock outfit’s career arc that never quite arced. Though one of the more respected bands around town among other musicians and our handful of critics, Bullyclub never did seem to gather more than a small and hearty collection of fans. Yet here we are just a year after 2006’s very good Babbleluck, and Bullyclub have now released the even better Tenure, a statement and celebration of 10 years on the scene with no intention of fading off into the where’d-they-go-agains. Though Cowan and company haven’t changed their overall sound significantly, remaining firmly in the tradition of Paul Westerberg and Alex Chilton, there’s something significantly more self-assured about this album, with a dash more world-weariness and some cynicism thrown in to better satisfy the indie crowd. Where on Babbleluck he might have gone for the upbeat sing-song in a chorus, Cowan here stays lower and grittier; and when he does go for the sing-song and sentimental he quickly changes his mind, as on grammatically challenged but otherwise solid “If I Was a Hammer” (seriously, does no one understand the future subjunctive anymore?). “On any other day,” Cowan sings, seemingly going in for the cheese, “I’d open up in your eyes/And I’d swing away.” But then he finishes with the chorused “If I was a hammer,” repeated like a hammer strike. And somehow, Cowan’s vocals are just better. How does a vocalist get significantly better on his fourth full-length album? I’m not sure, but he’s clearly taken a big step forward, to the point where once his vocals were fair to middling, they’re now above average and ought to be a draw on par with his songwriting and guitar tone. It’s possible some of the increase is due to a better set of microphones in the studio, or a better mix, but there are a number of recording engineers credited on the disc, from Mark Allan Miller at Slaughterhouse Studios, to former bandmate Jose Ayerve to Acadia Recording’s Marc Bartholomew to Matt Barnard at Stop Penguin Studio (which I’ve got to think is his living room, but maybe not). Rather, I think Cowan somewhere along the way made a point to be more aggressive, or maybe got a little pissed off. Maybe it’s an anomaly. Maybe it’s just a better set of songs more suited to his register. Maybe I’m crazy. Anyway, it’s hard to argue Cowan’s not been thinking about his band’s lot in life. The album’s title track could have just been a metaphor-laden narrative, like many of the songs here, but instead is pretty clearly a comment on the past 10 years. As in, “10 years off the road, 10 years a part-time band/Working stiffs with ties at home, no thanks, I think I’ll stand.” And let’s hope he’s referencing Neil Young’s “Hey, Hey, My, My” for different purposes than Kurt Cobain when he closes with the following: “Not playing for the gas/Not playing for hard knocks/Hardly playing for no fans/This is dependent rock/We protect a fortress of pebbles/Better to burn out than fade/Can’t someone roll off the treble/Cuz my ears are rustin’ away.” It would seem Cowan and his excellent band — with Mark McDonough’s sometimes thrilling guitar tone, John Nunan’s precise and subtle time-keeping, and Josh Denkmire’s bass work, opening the title track with a run up to the guitar lick, and organs that often provide an emotional underpinning for a song — are just starting to truly burn, if sometimes slowly. “Tappan Zee” is a bridge that lots of singers seem to have thoughts about, most notably Carole King, with her “I’m Really Rosie,” which is about the opposite of this tune in its rampant exuberance, while Cowan broods through a measured take on, “Amsterdam has the quickest lights/And I’m quick to the fight/If this driver, this driver doesn’t turn right/All aboard, I’m your captain/All aboard, take your seat/All aboard, if you’re lonely, lonely as me.” With a cello and a lilt, Jose Gonzalez and Bert Jansch fans should be pleased. That the glowing rock of “Jackie Grisham and the Herd” follows immediately is one of the best moments here, an upbeat melancholy with which I’d be shocked if you didn’t find yourself yelling along after the third listen. “A Judas Move” might be the best relationship song I’ve heard all year. “Millicent” cuts deep: “With a little weed and Klonopin/Martinis dry and mandolins/Those were the nights you could live with.” There are two thoughts on tenure. One theorizes that tenured teachers get lazy, cheating their students of their best efforts, since, hey, they can’t get fired. The other posits that tenured teachers use their job security to let creativity reign, to devote their full attention to the exploration of their chosen subject. I’m thinking Bullyclub are invested in the latter theory. And what could they be fired from, anyway?