"Hey Caetano, what'd you do during your exile?" Gilberto asked over the clink of ice in balmy 1972. "Wow, that's pretty...you know, that's real nice. That's barely boring at all. Hey, totally unrelated, I gotta go make an album that sounds nothing like that"
Expresso is all hopped up and its on the express. It is not a river. It is going places, and fast. It is made of all kinds of different cars, and they go 2 2 2 2 when they're gone its all over and you watch them whip around the hill.
By 1972 the distorted guitars have fallen away, and nothing here is wildly, wildly inventive, but it bounces off things at delightful angles, full of ideas, of arcs of change in tempo in tone, pumping the brakes, popping up the front tire over the whoops. Doesn't quite rock, doesn't quite soothe, but it's a fun, skittering little record full of moments of small excitement and beauty 4/5
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