CD Reviews
Photo by Michael Babcock
27
Hydra Head Records
Let The Light In
6 songs
Holy shit, when did these people get all this personality? A year or two ago, caught up in the hype of the time, I tuned into a live broadcast of theirs and was promptly put to sleep. It’s hard to believe this is the same band. In fact, it’s hard to believe this is the same band doing all six of these insidiously unique and seductive songs. Rarely is something so tauntingly understated and boiling with genius at once. There are ideas here so impossibly simple, you can only smack yourself and ask, “Now why, in all this time, hasn’t anyone else thought of that?” The band has taken un-cluttering to a whole new science. As a result, the music flexes and breathes like it was sitting in your lap, then sticks its tongue right in your ear. But for all its prettiness and anti-bombast, it never comes close to fading into background. Rather, you could put this on at some huge, loud-ass party, and people would actually shut the fuck up. This is the kind of impossibly pleasant shock I look forward to all year, and the reason it’s still worth sifting through mountains of petrified shit over and over and over. Simply, one of the coolest damn things in ages, and I’m grateful. (Joe Coughlin)
THE EXPLOSION
Virgin
Black Tape
12 songs
I think, at this point, you’re just supposed to bow down in supplication and shield your eyes from the blinding white light of celebrity and fortune pouring out of The Explosion. What other bands in town are on Virgin-fucking-records and touring with Social-fucking-Distortion, right? These yobbos are swimming in teenage punkette pussy now, baby, you can believe that. They are living the private tour bus dream, eating mile-long deli trays and drinking corporate-sponsorship booze. So, do they deserve it? I mean, anymore than you and your retro-Pacman death-disco hippyfolk garage-duo? Well, yeah, sure. I dunno how they sounded when they were slugging it out in the basements and church halls and trenches of Boston punk, but on this, their major-label debut, they do a bang-up job of aping the early Manic Street Preachers’ perfect prescription of grit, glitter, and hard rock soul, only without the Manic’s messy tendencies towards blood and artifice. Instead, they throw in an extra dose of chart-pleasing pop hooks and a few rabble-rousing street rock choruses. And, apparently, that’s all you need to “make it” in nu-punk these days. I’d tell you what the standout tracks are, but when you buy this, (hopefully at the Virgin Megastore, so that the circle of consumer hell can remain unbroken), odds are there will be a sticker on the front telling you which songs are the hits. They’ll be the same ones you heard on the radio, so you really don’t need my help there. The rest of the songs are pretty good too, just not as good. Tesco Vee is NEVER gonna come back and save punk rock from itself, is he? (Sleazegrinder)
LOCKGROOVE
Shark Attack! Music
Calm Right Down
12 songs
I like this a lot. In fact, I think I love this, and that has nothing to do with the fact that the title is something my therapist would say to me. This is music that doesn’t sound like anyone else. Sure, I can detect some influences, like My Bloody Valentine and Jesus and Mary Chain, but they are so subtly interwoven that I could be dead wrong about their very existence. Sometimes the music kicks right along, and sometimes it chills quite nicely, and other times it drifts seamlessly into limitless vistas of barely structured sound that nonetheless make perfect sense. Sometimes trippy and sometimes drony, but always with the overall sense that it’s all been planned beforehand, and you know that the trip will end in a minute or so and land you safely in an actual song. “Execution Style” is a highlight, a potent hybrid that crosses Magical Mystery Tour-era Beatles with early ’80s Echo and the Bunnymen and maybe a dash of Fugazi or Neurosis. Can’t imagine it, can you? Well, neither could I have, until I heard the song. Get this and be reminded of just how drug-like music can be, in the best possible way. (Tim Emswiler)
THE ELECTROLUX COMBO
Beat Party!
14 songs
Not sure if someone who grew up actually ENVYING the happy-go-lucky, existentialism-pondering, bongo-playing, beret-sporting, work-avoiding, deodorant-abhorring, turtleneck-sweater-wearing, poetry-spouting, action-painting beatniks who got to groove ’til dawn in their sweat-walled basement tea pads to this kind of honker-and-shouter derived jazzy instrumental R&B; ’til hours wee ought HIMSELF to be revisiting this turf some 40-odd years after the fact. But Qué será será. It’s Kismet. And good taste is timeless. Ya really want the skinny? If this sort of circa-1961-ambiant instrumental floats your boat, Big Chief Hug ‘Em and Kiss ‘Em , then ya just gotta have this, whether you be hipster- manqué or the sort of superkool chianti-chugging finger-poppin’ kat who calls the English teacher Daddio. Okay, it’s not perfect. What is? Round about “Breakin’ Up” my foot stops tappin’ for a spell. And on some of the tracks the sax-playing isn’t quite as nimble as you’d like. But what choice do you have? Look, if you were to go to every Goodwill, garage sale, miser’s attic, and boutique vinyl store in the metro area you might squander endless time and money just to snap up one or two choiceys in this genre. Uncool. Why bother—when it’s all here? electroluxcombo.com. (Francis DiMenno)
THE HUMANOIDS
Imperial Phonograph Recordings
If Not Us, Who?
If Not Now, When
5 songs
JOE TURNER
Camera Obscura
Between Two Seconds
11 songs
Ex-Abunai! drummer Joe Turner has made an extraordinary CD of shimmering, psychedelic dream-pop. His arrangements are complex and reward repeated listens. The instrumentation is a shifting tapestry of guitars, synths, cello, horns, flute and zither. Bill Doss of Olivia Tremor Control does guest vocals on one song while Joe handles all the instruments and vocals on three songs. Joel Simches of The Noise played keyboards and helped Joe record and mix.
Each song flows into the next seamlessly and there’s not a weak song on the album. “Waking Dream,” an instrumental, creates suspense with a hopeful bass figure and fuzzy, monotone guitar. Ajda Snyder’s flute floats in as if on a breeze and then Joe’s authoritative drumming amps up the five minute track. This is like the path through the forest and with “When Will You Wake Up?” you’ve reached the clearing and found the perfect pop song. A kiss off to an ex, the lyrics go “Good to know you haven’t changed/good to see you still play games.” Another song contemplates life in the city while the upbeat “Hills of Pennsylvania” describes a drive in the country: “Truck stops/and signs that talk to God.” On “Dollar Star” Joe’s overdubbed vocals remind me of Crosby Stills & Nash’s angelic harmonies. And on “When the Day Crowd Leaves,” sustained guitar notes unwind in the slow, epic manner of a Pink Floyd song. Joe’s wistful vocals add a moody quality to the track while heavy drums with crashing cymbals build excitement. “Perfect the First Time” closes out the CD with an epiphany of wah guitar, melodic bass and intense drums. “Make it perfect the first time,” Joe sings. I’d say he came pretty close. (Laura Markley)
TAXPAYER
Ernest Jenning Record Co.
I’ll Do My Best to Stay Healthy
7 songs
I’m writing this mere hours after watching the Sox win the AL pennant in the heart of the deathstar that is Yankee-land, so bear with me, I’m a little frazzled after watching every single inning of the entire series. Anyway, this disc is really pretty much what I hear in my head when I think of the phrase “indie rock,” and not quite in the way I meant that phrase back when The Replacements and Hüsker Dü were my indie rock bands of choice. But I digress. THE SOX WON! HOLY SHIT! Okay, back to business. This is well played, well produced, and at times well conceived, and “Conversation, Please” kicks things up several notches with a guitar riff so sweet that I have walked around all day with it repeating endlessly in my mind. DAVID ORTIZ IS GOD! Sorry, but I’m sure you understand. I hear these guys are in The Rumble this year, and if they can demonstrate the energy and songcraft of “Conversation, Please” combined with the smart construction of “Sterile Agendas,” they could have a shot. It might also help if they covered “Tessie.” That’s just how those judges think. (Tim Emswiler)
MOLLYCODDLE
AAD
Beautiful Californian Failure
13 songs
I admire the gracious unobtrusiveness of the elegiac “Won’t Let You Down,” and if the non-derivative originals were as appealing in their own right I might be better disposed to be muster enthusiasm for this collection. People belabor Sir Paul for his soppiness, but at least Macca, even at his drooliest, tried to be INTERESTING. Lennon had his marshmallow heart as well, though he usually had the dignity to keep it concealed and mix it up on both sides with a little bile. Not so Mr. Eric Schmider, who makes a notorious McCartney acolyte like the critically neglected and cruelly underrated Emmitt Rhodes sound like a dyspeptic crank. Unlike Rhodes, however, who seemed in a most remarkable way to penetrate to the essential melodic core of what made McCartney’s ditties so appealing, Mr. Schmider merely limns the surface. No room here for a course in aesthetics, but readers of Scott McCloud are hip to what I’m laying down. As is, I find it neither memorable nor offensive. Just flat. Pale. Horizonless. Unremarkable. Overall, a nondescript dozefest. As such, assessing this CD isn’t a job so much for a critic as for a forensic pathologist. (Francis DiMenno)
BLACKLISTED
Band in Boston
4 songs
Check it out: Johnny X and Mick Keddy from Boston sickcore legends Psycho have joined up with that hot chick that used to be in The Flux (Bridget Murphy) and here they are, playing punchy, old-skull punk n’ roll. Keddy does a dead-on Jello, Bridget coos like that freaky girl in Jucifer, Johnny X’s guitar squeals like it’s being stabbed in the guts, and Dennis Maffeo’s drums well, I never notice what’s going on with drums, to be honest. Collectively, they sound like the Heartbreakers on the nights when Johnny didn’t show up and Waldo would just sing and play and shoot the dope for him, and everybody would be too wrecked to know the difference until somebody dug up the bootleg cassette two years later. You know, loose and lippy, loud and proud. Of the four tracks here, the best one is the minute long “Candlelight,” because it sounds like The Tubes trying to play Iron Maiden, and that kind of inspired nonsense doesn’t happen everyday. The other songs are snotty, sloppy, and short, which is entirely the idea. File under “Will play for beer, or at least the empties,” if you’re into filing things. (Sleazegrinder)
MOREX OPTIMO
Broken Hill Music
Beast of Reflection
12 songs
Foxes and Crows are agents; they observe changes in the world and perform their own changes on the world. But Cheese is passive. Extreme Behaviorists would beg to differ, though they wouldn’t have any problem distinguishing Morex Optimo from cheese; this project by Western Mass. native Heather Wagner is a wild and brainy rush and provides a refreshing change of pace from the quotidian. Listen: feel yourself beginning to take a psychic holiday from the get-go; “Burkino Faso, Kung Fu” sets the tone—it’s like a cross between XTC inventive dissonance and B-52s style crazed tomfoolery. The vocalizations are inspired and some truly intricate jazz-level guitar bass and percussion parts render this musical project a decided cut above. Fans of Beefheart and Baby Ray will find a good deal to like here. The sweeping “Kosmonaut” has the sort of epic sound some would call ponderous but devotees of Savage Republic and the like will lap it up. This is possibly too esoteric for some benighted tastes, but who cares about THOSE shitheads? As per Harvey Pekar, average is the new dumb. And the undumb and discerning will vastly appreciate these musical stylings, which are themselves a type of ingenious calculus of contrariwise. (Francis DiMenno)
COUNTERPART
Papp Smear Records
Me vs. the World
7 songs
Now here’s a 21 year old guy from Manchester, New Hampshire, whose favorite music came out when he was about 10… Nirvana, Weezer, etc. I liked that style the first time around, but something gets lost after 10 years. Chris Papp is the one-man band known as Counterpart, and instead of a bio or description on the project, he sent a paper with four smug-looking photos of his face (ah, we all could do no wrong at 21) and HIS review of his own album which he thought would appear in The Noise. A piece of this: “With his infectious hooks, hard rockin’ guitar style, and introspective lyrics, Counterpart is the cherry on top of the alternative pop/ rock/ shit pile.” Now I don’t know about you, but if I saw a cherry on top of a shit pile, I’d pass it by. Some introspective lyrics from “Desend”: “Now that I’m grown up and everything’s messed up, the brighter side, it gets harder to find.” Wow. The deadpan vocal needs work, so as what is basically a bedroom-level quality demo, I suggest Counterpart keep on rockin’, refine your music and keep looking for the brighter side. (Mike Loce)
BROKEN TOYS
Trashtone
A Fistful of Caulk
10 songs
I’ve got some friends from Noo Yawk who’re in an industrial robo-porn band called Hate in the Box, which even they’ll admit is a stupid name. Thing is, they used to be called Broken Toys, which makes much more sense, since they dress like broken dolls and play toy instruments, but they had to change it because, as they once told me, “Some fucking punk band in Springfield, Mass. or some fucking where already had the name.” And this, ladies and gentlemen, is that fucking band. Only they’re from Methuen. I have no idea if that’s any sexier than Springfield. Anyway, I’ve digressed. A Fistful of Caulk was recorded by Coke Dealer, it’s got a porn star (Cailey Taylor) on the cover, there’s a line in the song “Kicked in the Head” that goes “Drive me around like a stolen car/hypnotized by a Wonder Bra”, and they claim to have once played the “Ass Factory.” These are all signs of sleazy rock ‘n’ roll band in full, glorious, kill-for-thrills mode. So why does this record sound more like the Best Kissers in the World or the Goops, then, say, the Dead Boys, or the KariNations, or Crystal Pistol? I don’t know, Jack, I didn’t write the songs. I’m just reporting the facts. As human beings, the Broken Toys are shameless drunken wrecks, but their music is poppy and playful. Non-alcoholic, even. Listen, I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with being pleasant or listenable, but if you’re gonna puke in your own lap or piss the bed, you should at least SOUND like you meant it. (Sleazegrinder)
GRUBSTAKE
Nine Mile Records
Dynamite and Other Inventions
16 songs
I really wanted to like this, especially when I noticed the participation of local legend Chris Brokaw (Come), but alas, the dominant emotion with which this disc leaves me is one of disinterest. While the press kit throws out the phrase “swamp rock” to describe some of these songs, I found them rather devoid of either swampiness or rock-ness, while other songs tread the territory of blues without getting really Muddy. But I should also add that I generally prefer my music with a large measure of dirt and hacksaws and general ass-kick-ness, and this just carries an atmosphere of laid-back-ness that fails to speed up my slowly slowing heart. However, complete redemption is found in the instrumental “Percy Wentworth Stomp,” which features Caged Heat’s Chilly Kurtz unleashing a truly ripping harmonica solo, achieving tones that are so downright nasty they make James Cotton sound like he’s playing “Camptown Races.”
Having said all that, I should also mention that the production sparkles, the musicianship is flawless, and the songwriting is solid. Not my cup of tea, but it could be yours, if you would just mellow the fuck out and, um, maybe drink a Mike’s Hard Lemonade instead of Jack Daniel’s. (Tim Emswiler)
WINDMILL
Big Spoon Records
Every Last Windmill Shall Fall
13 songs
There’s genius here. As he proved on his previous EP, Kent Randell has an uncanny knack for utilizing sonic textures to produce both aesthetic and profoundly emotional responses. “Mark” works as opening salvo because it’s picture-perfect garage-punk: open and raw and resonant all at the same time. Randell has the inspiration thing licked, though he needs to work on pacing and craft; some of the songs on side one, like “Long Road Home,” “Kansas,” “Candle,” and “For Iris” don’t quite work, except as a part of a suite. The dynamic rhythm-propelled softcore-psyche jangle of “Kansas” might have been a better second song. Ideally, “Tornados” would have been next—its stark magnificence leaves one tingling and numb. In fact, all of side two works: the keening “Orwell,” the loping “All the Birds,” the poignant “5th of July,” the haunting “Nostalgia,” the unnervingly hypnotic “Octillion”—all are brilliant and some deeply insinuate themselves into that same area of the brain which causes one to stand stark still with shock in the presence of sublimity. Despite the presence of uncompromising mood-pieces on “side one,” “side two” is brilliantly conceived, and the entire CD has a peculiar rhythm all its own. (Francis DiMenno)
REBUILTHANGARTHEORY
Plays-Rite Records
With Hurricane Blows
14 songs
Other than the clunky name, there’s not much to dislike about this band. This album is a compilation of songs mostly recorded in the mid-90s, but it sounds like it came from even earlier than that. Rick Prior’s detached cool recalls Lou Barlow. In fact, Rebuilthangartheory often sounds like early Dinosaur Jr. without the guitar pyro. Other times, they sound like Pavement without all the wackiness. The lack of those qualities keeps Rebuilthangartheory from reaching the heights of the aforementioned bands, but there’s no shame in that. The disc’s lo-fi production suits the band very well. I really dig the interplay between the lead guitar and the ultra melodic bass, and you can easily surmise that these tunes sound fantastic live. While fourteen songs may be a little much for one sitting, this is a very pleasant introduction for those like me who had never heard of this band. (Kevin Finn)
SUSPECT DEVICE
A Moment’s Notice
12 songs
Local yokel pub-punks Suspect Device score high marks on authenticity with this collection of ragged, raucous rock ‘n’ roll tunes about growing up tough on the streets of Boston. I grew up tough on the streets of Boston myself (okay, the slightly-less-tough streets of Cambridge), so I can relate. Originality? Well, not so much, but let us chalk it up to traditionalism. Suspect Device like their Clash city rockers, their Social D greaser ballads, and their US Bombs shout-alongs, and they play ’em all with power and grace. Their penchant for big pop hooks in all the right places certainly doesn’t hurt their cause, either. Case in point: the glorious stomper “Knocked Down,” a boisterous, insanely catchy ode to getting punched in the face that sounds like “Walk Among Us” era Misfits, minus the cool ghoul bullshit. It’s some seriously rousing rock ‘n’ roll, punk-o. Elsewhere and otherwise, there’s plenty of heartfelt gruff-stuff to sweat out a hard day’s night on the docks to, so if your taste in punk is provincial (i.e. Dropkicks, Street Dogs, Lost City Angels), then grab a pint of green beer and a baseball bat with a nail through it and this record, and go live a fuckin’ little. (Sleazegrinder)
FAT DAY
Load
Unf! Unf!
23 songs
Think! To think. What to think. Know what to think. Don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to think. How’s that? FAT DAY. Description: am self-described “Chimp Rock.” Lyrics am Dada, Ubu, Devo, Situationist Comedy, and Doo-Doo. Music am varied from track to track (!Think .) I am think maybe of Minutemen as a runaway juggernaut the size of the world flattening two billion buck-naked acolytes. (!Think to .) Am hard to describe other than a mix of (!Think to what ) trad sqronk scree guitar, (!Think to what know .), acid horns, (!Think to what know don’t .) vengeful rant, (!Think to what know don’t I .), stumbo bass-drum and heavy guitar riffage (“Fawn”), grinding guitar (“Adoration of the Crapass” am beautiful), restful patches (“Processional”) and electronic noodle soup (me love “Chick Tract”), and brilliant indignant thrash (“Enterasys”). No song am over 1:55. Mean length of songs: 46 seconds. I am listen to this ten times in three hours. And I. I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know what. I don’t know what to. I don’t know what to think! But I am know this!! Any band am list Sparks as Number One Band In Heaven am FUCKING ALL RIGHT. (Francis DiMenno)
ZO TOBI
Zo Tobi Records
From The Layers That Surround You
10 songs
Zo Tobi is an acoustic guitarist and environmentalist who hears his own drummer. This is a good thing in his case, because on the bio sheet, and as a spoken word bit on the CD, the first thing he says is, “The guitar was a drum before it was a guitar.” He hails from Lyndeborough, New Hampshire, attends Clark in Worcester, and looks like he’s been gigging at various musical/ activist venues around New England. Not your standard Lizard Lounge or Burren gigs, or anything even listed in the Downtown Boston zone, though he’d definitely do well at places like these—a good singing voice, usually odd metered compositions with environ/ political lyrics, and an acoustic guitar in various open tunings. He’s got a lot of energy behind his delivery, though the sometimes sprawling acoustic song/ strumming voyages can feel like he’s not fully letting you into his world. His guitar technique is solid and built well, I’d recommend any folk or acoustic based artists around Boston to get this album and hear what’s going on with Zo Tobi. zotobi.com. (Mike Loce)
VICTORY AT SEA
Gern Blandsen Records
Memories Fade
11 songs
What with weepy violins and a screamin’ chanteuse, tracks like “Little Town” and “Love Is Ageless” sounds like nothing so much as a hysterical gypsy orgy. And even though the whole CD reeks of crypto-sophistication, there’s also hints of a Stairway-to Heaven faux-eldritch vibe on a track like “Logan Way.” Ordinarily I dote on this kinda stuff, but this outing comes across as tinny and overwrought and unconvincing; a track like “All Night Superstar,” whether intentionally or not, evokes bad show tunes as written by a brain-cramped Kurt Weill. I won’t say it comes off as contrived, exactly, or calculating, since I have no insight into the motivations of the musicians, but I will say that to me it smells more spectacular than beautiful; more declamatory than subtle; more stiff than supple. Maybe I’m annoyed because the vocals are mixed so high that they overpower the sometimes poignant instrumentals, particularly on “Animals and the Weather.” Or maybe I’m just tired to death of evocations of bottomless gloom that sound less earned than perfunctory. (Francis DiMenno)
BROOKFIELD
Brookfield Records
Maybe this Time
10 songs
I had a feeling that this record was going to be a little too ‘AAF for my tastes, and I was right, as it too often veers into the white boy funkiness of 311 or the generic hard rock of Staind. But in the interest of fairness, the disc does have some strong points that make it more palatable than those aforementioned bands. Granted, that’s not saying very much, but I really don’t mean it as a backhanded complement. Most notably, Brookfield understands that a little subtlety goes a long way. Mikey J can actually sing a bit and doesn’t feel the need to use gratuitous volume to overcompensate for lack of range. His bandmates are guilty of a little too much noodling in places, but give them credit for exploring shifts in dynamics that mostly avoid slipping into the soft verse-loud chorus cliché. I don’t see Brookfield and I finding long-term happiness together, but I’ve had worse first dates. (Kevin Finn)
I HATE KATE
Dynomite Pop Records
I Hate Kate
8 songs
I Hate Kate is a new four piece outfit from Boston. Their sound is mature and smooth but not without it’s rocking moments. In particular, the lead guitar playing has a certain almost dangerous sounding edge to it, which makes a fascinating counterpoint to the subdued vocals. Now that I’ve mentioned the vocals, I’ve gotta say that this is the one area of this disc that I have a problem with. And it’s not all bad; sometimes it’s slightly reminiscent of The Shoes’ homemade recordings. But for the most part it sounds more like they’re trying to hide the thin, reedy voice so you won’t notice. Which is too bad, because some of my favorite singers have thin, reedy voices (Dylan, Neil Young, etc.).
There are several really strong songs here: not so much hooky as interesting, the melodies drawing you in and making you want to get inside the songs. Which is another reason it’s too bad the vocals are so hard to hear. I’d like to know what he’s singing, I want to know what’s going on. But, putting that aside, I like this disc a lot. I’m humming along with “Mr. Airplane” and “Doesn’t Matter,” and I’m even playing a bit of air guitar. (It’s possible that my co-workers are thinking about calling the local mental hospital, but I don’t care.)
It’s not a party album, but it’s a good album. It sounds a bit like Sunday morning to me, sipping my espresso while I read the newspaper. I’m not sure how to classify it; it doesn’t really fit into any of the usual genre sub-categories—just good songs, written and played by real people. There ought to be more of this in the world. (Brian Mosher)
TONS OF CHILL
It’s On
7 songs (plus radio edits)
Don’t believe the hype (of the press sheet), which tries to sell this as Beck, Beasties, and Chili Peppers, although fans of any of ’em would probably lick this right off the floor. The closest thing I’m hearing is actually local band Stymie, which is way better anyway. This is a little more slick, a little less melting-pot, and doesn’t gimme the full-on brain-boner of the other guys, but still wields the undeniable vibe that these people are all having a serious ball on the same page, which obviously counts for much when you’re pushin’ the party vibe. This makes me wanna mispronounce words like “FUN-kay” and “BOO-tay,” and I mean that as a compliment. Even the raps, which usually have me changin’ channels, are fun in the context. Spotless production, ace playing, grooves as deep as J-Lo’s asscrack, and you’re gonna need hooks to hang some of these hooks on. Never forced or condescending, it’s one of those welcome instances where a hundred bands try the same thing, and this is the one that comes out sounding like they really mean it. A good night out if you’re staying in. (Joe Coughlin)
VINTAGE RADIO
Canadian American Records
Invite Me In
10 songs
This is the type of record that causes you to lose faith in indie rock. Maybe that’s a bit harsh. Maybe it’s because I’m smack in the middle of reading Our Band Could Be Your Life, and even the bands in there that I don’t like impress the hell out of me with their ambition. Nothing on this album suggests to me that Vintage Radio has that kind of drive, and there’s nothing here that suggests to me that people will be speaking about this band in reverential tones ten years from now. How best to describe what I hear? The Replacements without the hooks? Buffalo Tom without the heart? It’s hard to say exactly, for while I would not classify this disc is horrible, I also can’t remember a thing about it ten minutes after it leaves my stereo. (Kevin Finn)
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