Cibo Matto's got so much everywhichway energy that it makes a lot of sense for them to tie it to a concept album. This ones got a guitars, horns, electronic bonks and skitters, brushy accoustic beats, and as always those cooing, keening, rapping, inflected vocals, all wrapped in a hotel ghost story.
What might've seemed wildly scattershot and borderline obnoxious hangs together somehow, with all those callbacks to mysterious women, that rhythm of endless hallways, rooms, and guests, that spooky atmosphere offsetting overinguldent pop flailing. Fun stuff 4/5
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