is like scrubbing your face with steel wool. It finds the band relying on rusty guitar shards that scrape, seethe, and hiss, further removing itself from the sound of and . Harsh and grating, surprisingly produces sheer noise at times, best witnessed in the lengthy closing of and the unintentional homage that opens 's bass and 's drums are relegated to acting as a guide; they're pushed -- but not squashed -- down in the mix, allowing for 's guitars to take control, corrosively so. It's probably 's least digestible record from front to back, but each track has its own attractive qualities, even if not immediately perceptible. open the record furiously, but the majority of the following is hardly audible, aside from occasional vocal tantrums. A good amount of time is spent alternating between low-key guitar noodling and intrusive bursts of aggression. They're smart with their sequencing, placing the gentle instrumental (the only track where plays a prominent role) after the exhaustive cacophony of and generally piecing together a set of rather diverse tracks that flows well. 's anti-Hollywood rant on the properly titled is a classic moment, as is his similarly name-dropping Buried at the end of the record are two excellent lurchers, 's Not 's finest hour, but one of its most daring and rewarding. ~ Andy Kellman