| While I can sympathize with those of you who’re tempted to say, “Oh, sure, now’s the time on Sprockets when we dance,” I can’t imagine anybody actually listening to this album and coming away anything less that thrilled. It’s the sound of naked, young creativity in its first flare, excitingly and attractively arrogant. The guitarist seems convinced that he’s never going to get the chance to play in public again, so he’d better put all his ideas down on tape right now while he has the chance; there isn’t a single song on the album that sticks to one tempo for longer than a few minutes. |