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After the first couple of tracks, ‘eclectic’ is the first word that comes to mind (certainly not lazy). We kick off with "Nothing's Changed On The Dancefloor", which needed a couple of plays for me to come to grips with it, a wild and wide-eyed piece of Americana / alt. country, with more zip than a leather biker’s jacket. The (awful) title track is up next, and the pace slows, but the musicianship is just as willfully wild, and the attention to (odd) detail brings up thoughts of Jim White, although the music is more Jeff Buckley meets the Black Crowes, until the whole thing is derailed by a strange counter-tune near the end. Then we get "Juju", in the vein of Animal Collective throwaway material, dusted down and treated to a more tuneful approach, but with added storyline, better lyrics, better playing... yep, quite a little cracker, actually. The album progresses with seven more dark and twisted tales, peopled by strange characters and even stranger events, and when we reach the end you have to ask just what exactly has been achieved here? Or, what exactly has been laid down? Or where the hell are we, and what’s going on? It may be a good thing that Paul and his wife, Devon Sproule, are leaving their hometown in Virginia, and heading to Berlin. He should be quite at home in there, having recorded this album in the city on a previous four day visit. If he made this racket in just four days, think what he might produce in four weeks, or four months, etc.
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