This record got panned last issue, so I want to drop in my two cents worth. First off, let me say that I have a great deal of respect for the Razorcake reviewers, particularly the two who reviewed this record. Still, I respectfully disagree. It’s true that The Cinch are indie rockers. They’re probably the favorite band of some skinny, effeminite, lonely guy who wears ironic thrift store t-shirts and works at the college radio station and wonders why no one loves music the way he does. And there are hints of Brit Pop. And it’s nothing like what you’ve come to love about Dirtnap Records. I can understand why someone would pop this into the CD player and expect the wild Epoxies/Minds/Ends punk rock that Dirtnap is known for, and be bummed to find that they’re listening to indie rock. I had that experience myself. On repeated listens—and, believe me, The Cinch are getting repeated listens—you get over that initial reaction and come to love this. Imagine an amped-up Holly Golightly or a more straightforward Sleater-Kinney and you’re somewhere in the ballpark of The Cinch. Tight melodies, full guitars, and haunting vocals. It’s not what I normally listen to, but I’m listening to it normally, and I really dig it.