Impossibly bedroom. Those drum machine beats, those intimations of weakness.
But where your usual bedroom album is small, full of 3-chord 3-versers about narrow details and universal platitudes, this goes in the total opposite direction.
The songs are sprawling, endless, strange.
The sentiments are so personal they become universal (dig the verse about disillusionment with Brian Wilson), universal doubts made strangely small, wrapping yourself in a comforter against the hugeness of the universe.
Musically its a sloppy mess, lacking most of the hookiness of Teens of Denial, most of the rock power of Teens of Style, laying down scattershot synths and guitars as surging backdrop.
But lyrically, kid had it all along. For a certain band of smart, sensitive, quietly terrified, coping-with-coping-with-being music nerds, Will Toledo is fucking Jesus.
Listening to this, in retrospect, its incredible he progressed from this to Teens of Denial. What the fuck will he do next? 3.5/5
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