This album title emanates from yet another crowd vox pop quote. Not surprisingly some in the Consolidated audiences got pretty pissed off at the pumping industrial dance tracks being interrupted by lengthy diatribes.
I suspect this was the first album I heard and bought from this band, as this is where they most sound like Michael Franti’s Disposable Heroes. The ranting is more rhythmic, and the narrative threads weaved through the songs are more captivating and engaging.
And, despite the scolding, know-it-all tone of many tracks, there are moments of definite humour, and also the most memorable contribution of the band, namely the inclusion of a track by guest rappers, the Yeastie Girlz.
Here it is in all its glory (warning, this is not particularly work-friendly, discussing as it does the merits of cunnilingus):
More tunes like that and I’d be much happier with the album.
File under: No, play more good music