3/5 regarded as Sparks' big modern masterpiece, but nah.
Repetition's the name of the game, again, this time over lots of strings. It's an inventive stab at not-rock. The opener's brazenly minimal as they come, and there's some knotty little jokes woven into the repetition; Carnegie Hall shows what it tells, and Your Call's Very Important to Us is a fun Zooropian piece of lived microdystopia.
But Sparks' streak of bitterness crosses a line into embarrassing this time out, ranting about modern bands and suburban homeboys, whining endlessly about women who only care about money -- it's gross, and undercuts the detached cool the rest of the album worked so hard to build
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