Continuing deeper into their self-created world of weird alien skies and man/machine biology, among many other things, and , still working with , whipped up . Released as it was in the U.K. by during the heyday of , probably came across as the whacked-out American version of the modern machine music (or more appropriately, ) was whipping up. Seen in the light of history, though, it just sounds like -- a slightly more controlled than on previous albums, but still out-and-out crazed and strange. Elements of fractured beauty surface more than once -- the with haunting keyboard sighs and drones, and the similarly moody pulse of show that not everything is completely cracked. Such moments are only brief compared to the usual hip-shake mind-f*ck of , pitched somewhere between unexpected catchiness and head-shaking, "what the hell was that?" shifts and turns. Musically there's less clutter, no immediate sense of piling absolutely everything up to see what would happen, even on the busiest tracks. Still, everything feels distanced and not-quite-there as before -- even the crispest, punchiest songs, like the slow-dance beat of have something frayed at the edges (in this song's case, distorted and muddied orchestral swoops). split the vocals between most tracks, while playing a boggling array of keyboards, guitars, and whatever else they could get their hands on. 's singing is a little more comprehensible than 's, who buries himself in the murk as much as possible or ominously whispers when the mood takes him, as on the more-cryptic-than-thou trudge of Samples and drop-ins again make an appearance, but usually heavily treated, acting more as background atmospherics than jarring cut-ups. The most amusing cut in context is which sounds like somebody told to see if a -like hit could be created. ~ Ned Raggett