Fucked Up completes their transformation into a heavy indie band that happens to have a howling lunatic frontman and I'm good with it. Their prettiest, most fun album, full of half-working experiments and clumsy combinations. That's always been my favorite thing about the band -- that and their peerless ability to be ferociously aggressive and deeply wounded and sensitive all at once.
Purists will moan, but if you're not stoked to get down when Talking Pictures hits its dancy breakdown you just don't like music. Obligatory: holy shit this album's and hour and 22 minutes long and does too little to get you to the end, but it works well enough portioned out in slices 4/5
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