' first solo project away from the ultra-pop of is not the upbeat, piano banging you would expect after listening to his previous work. As his project's name spells out in bold letters, collects all of the nasty little demons running through ' mind when he's singing his sweet ditties. The biggest distinction is the addition of guitar, a no-no. Screeching chords christen the album's title track as howls at his most unharmonic. From there, every track continues on in a different experimental vein that paints as some manic child who has just gotten a recording studio for Christmas. 1970s sleaze mixes with flute and muffled crime-scene samples on ; sounds like background music at a planetarium laser light show; the throwback sounds like a lost / collaboration. Most interesting of ' experiments is which gives , Mr. Golden Throat himself, a chance to mutter suave, obscure poetry over a sea of smooth backing vocals and tinny drum machines. 's appearance is enough to clue you in that is anything but serious with this eclectic surge of energy. If anything, the bizarre humor mixed with the swift sounds and firm beats makes a danceable novelty record with a justified sense of end-of-the-millennium attention deficit disorder. ~ Jason Kaufman