The Flaming Lips have ditched the affable jam band aesthetic they’ve worked so hard to create and put out a challenging listen that exhumes their weird, experimental roots. It’s worth the effort. On my first run-through, I was tempted to dismiss the over-modulated production as so-very-now gimmickry. But given a little time, the album sinks its meat hooks into you and drags you into its beguiling world.
(Tracks removed by request)
I admit I’m a fan. And strangely enough, I have a on a BHP tee this very moment. Of course I’ve been eager for the new release, especially given the label problems that have held things up for so long.
So any good you ask? Well the mood is still black as sackcloth, and much of the instrumentation and tempos are things we’ve heard before—but it’s good, almost great I say. As with most of their albums, there are a few throwaways, but at least half is gothic bliss, and that’s really all I need.
