4 March 2007
tell your friends...
Words by Sean Moeller // Illustration by Josh Frankel
There’s been a lapse in our progressive review, as has been noted. It will be written off as a casualty of time restraints, but what I’ll argue for posterity is that this album shouldn’t be listened to but every other day for safety. What happens is that every time it’s dug into, it creates the right conditions for a root canal — its sweetness and its richness (like imported chocolates) get the best of a dude. They can knock your ass out, lie you supine with a bellyache from all of the ill-advised knoshing on candies and stuffs. It delivers you to the same place that you can get to by not adhering to the strict rule of liquor before beer, in the clear. You can become soused in Satomi’s lyrics, which have been quickly determined to spin your ears and spin logic into a tie-dye, and assume all of the absurb wisdom of infinity. There’s so much in every line that there’s no way to tell what they mean. There are lines and reasonings that you could spend years deciphering and that wouldn’t be enough. Maybe too much is being made of Satomi’s maddeningly mad (read: magical) writing, but it really is like combining a death proof of moonshine with the glowing juice out of the torsos of fireflies and jellyfish. Even more so, there’s the top-notch play of guitarist John Dieterich, who has summoned those big guitar riffs that The Hold Steady snagged from previous big rock incarnations and then sent them through the quirky hole. That’s what you need a break from when you start feeling your pulse jumping through the caps of your teeth. The cavity is just a few towns over. You’ve done it again sweet tooth.
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