Whoa, what the fuck is this, Modest Mouse? Eek. Jangly, airy college radio rock with hand wringing, poetaster lyrics that sound like they were penned by Jewel during a break-up-inspired fudge brownie/crying binge. Oof. Oscar Wilde’s ascotted corpse must be spinning in it’s grave. After each horrid song I expected to hear some dorky college kid D.J. with a pimply voice that hasn’t dropped yet. I’ll admit this: the very last song actually didn’t seem so bad, but that might just be because the previous four songs had all the zing and kapow of a couple of grandma boobs. Kids: This CD is an example of why art classes can be dangerous.