On earlier Homostupids vinyl, I was suspecting a “maturation” along the lines of the Spits. Cretins that, instead of huffing furniture weatherproofing spray, were cultivating a certain type of mold to inhale that’d make the band both stupider and smarter. I was pretty far off. What I wasn’t expecting was art, like “I don’t quite know what to make of it, so I’m gonna shut up—wow, that person’s doing a lot of explaining—and see if there are free drinks around here somewhere” art. But, christ, when they kick all the instruments in the same direction, damn if they don’t harness a hearse running into a power line chaotic electricity of This Moment In Black History or Sun God. Then it goes into what sounds like practice tapes, various water sounds, banjo (or is it cello?) recitals, noise-as-noise, and sounds of kids saying stuff and art, sometimes within the confines of the same song. This record’s corrosive, like battery acid. It’s not like I’m bored or I’ve got something pressing to do right now, so I’m going to soak in this LP a bit longer, see if any vistas open up. I totally understand if you’ve got stuff to do and think it’s sorta annoying or unfocused.
–todd (Fashionable Idiots)