eatfreakz find out just how far a midget Michael Jackson impersonator can get you; Sigur Ros enter the elite world of 'indie bands that re-release singles a few months after they've charted in the hope of charting about three places higher than they did the first time'; Tim McGraw discovers indie cred—well, sort of; Maarja is the hottest thing out of Estonia in recent months, which is a bit worrying for Estonia; Mike Shinoda IS NOT SULKING; and we get onto Juanes about six months after the rest of the world. Oh well. First, Feeder attempt to introduce an 'edgier element' to their sound. Have a guess how well that goes...


Feeder - Lost and Found
[2.33]
Iain Forrester: The sound of a band who ran out of ideas at least four years ago. Being one of their increasingly rare rock numbers, though, it at least has a bit of energy and leaves the predictable ‘it’s pulling me down’ lyrics slightly less exposed. Loses an extra mark for threatening to turn into Foo Fighters’ “Times Like These” towards the end.
[2]

Doug Robertson: Feeder have a formula and, despite the fact that it’s as interesting a formula as a Dulux guide to mixing the colour grey, they’re resolutely sticking to it, no matter how little the public at large may care for it. There’s nothing here that hasn’t been heard before, be it on a Feeder record or, as is slightly more likely, on the CD of someone a bit more talented and original, doing it a bit better. Still, you have to give them credit for managing to sustain a career entirely on the back of the kinda catchy nature of Buck Rogers.
[4]

Joris Gillet: The most mediocre rock band ever returns. I think. It could be that they never went away and I just didn't notice. And they really try this time: they brought in a drum computer and listened to their Foo Fighters records one extra time before they went into the studio and they even nicked the riff from the last Hives single for the chorus and still this leaves no impression whatsoever. I think it's mainly the singer’s fault. He's got a voice without any trace of personality and seems capable of coming up with only the dullest and unimaginative of melodies.
[4]

Peter Parrish: Well ... they’re trying awfully hard, aren’t they? It must take a special kind of skill to make that much noise, crank out the distorted chords, proclaim your intentions in a vaguely shouty way and ... still sound a bit meek and mild. “Bland” is a pretty terrible word, but like those miniature red hammers on trains there’s a time and a place for correct usage. I’m confident that this song is genuinely boring enough for me to dodge a £250 fine. So, yes; bland, bland, blandity, bland-bland. Bland.
[1]


Fort Minor - Where'd You Go
[3.33]
Ian Mathers: You know, at first “Where'd You Go” tricked me into thinking that Fort Minor really was what I'd always hoped it would be, a way for some of Linkin Park to marry their surprising knack for a good chorus with something a little less risible than the sound/lyrics of their main band. And with that lovely female vocal on the chorus and rapping on the verses that is less annoying than normal, I was actually enjoying this song. And then Mike Shinoda pulls off the equivalent of taking his ball and going home with the incredibly petty second half of the song, and I'm back to writing off all concerned as too immature to bother with.
[4]

Jonathan Bradley: While the officially sanctioned Jay-Z mash-up was completely uninspiring, his efforts behind the boards for Lupe Fiasco, or here, as Fort Minor are not by any means the embarrassment a Mike Shinoda’s rap record should be. His true failing, however, is as a vocalist and a lyricist. While the project’s first single, “Remember the Name,” was thematically inconsequential enough for the amateur flow to take a back seat to the superior music, the unbelievably numbskull lyrics of “Where’d You Go” ruin any enjoyment that could be gained from its gentle beats and softly cooed chorus. Shinoda’s idiotic protest on behalf of rich kids whose parents are inconsiderate enough to have jobs serves only to confirm every cliché about nu-metal and the bored self-entitlement of its McMansion audience. Good music and bad vocals usually warrants average marks, but these lyrics are so banal as to earn this a…
[0]

Martin Skidmore: Well it's much better than Linkin Park—it’s a hip-hop record, so that is pretty much automatic, for me. He's not much of a rapper, derivative and with extremely limited flow, but he's not terrible, and this has a lovely wistful and lost air to it, a nice female vocal overdub helping the quite sweet music, plus something like a church choir in there too. I'm surprised to find that I rather like it.
[6]

Patrick McNally: Mike Shinoda of Linkin Park is either so conceited, or so lacking in confidence that he’s added a Dictaphone tape of some mate of his saying, “when you made me that initial batch of songs I was like, that’s the shit right there” onto the end of his track. If he wants, he can quote me in his CD booklet saying that it’s bland trip-hop bollocks.
[2]


50 Cent - Best Friend
[3.50]
Ian Mathers: I wish he'd stop singing the line “you say he's just a friend” like that, because the last thing this grinningly superficial song needs is the listener thinking of the far more entertaining Biz Markie. The Biz could probably make something out of the self-centered in the guise of devoted verses, but with Fiddy's normal smugness oozing all over the place, Olivia can't compete even though she's doing a good job. Stop placating the jerk and get your own song.
[4]

Hillary Brown: When the Olivia:50 ratio is strongly in her favor, you’ll end up with the occasional song worth a listen in more than a background way. It’s above absolute fucktardedness like “Candy Shop” but not quite up to the actual goodness of the “Outta Control” remix.
[5]

Martin Skidmore: Slushy Fiddy comes as a bit of a surprise. I'm not sure he has the smoothness or charm to pull it off, really. We get a light and bright musical tone and tune, and Olivia has plenty of smoothness (I'd like to hear more of her), but the rapping is entirely undistinguished. The lyric is a variant on Prince's far sharper "If I Was Your Girlfriend."
[4]

Jonathan Bradley: Goddammit 50, I don’t want to hear your lover-man conversation. The “fat kid loves cake,” line on “21 Questions,” was OK. but since then, whether you’re being an oversexed boor (“Candy Shop”) or a courteous bore (“Best Friend”) it just makes for dull listening. The 50 we were sold on was an amoral lout, a violent thug who had more bullet wounds than pick-up lines, and damn, that’s what we want to hear. Mr. Cent, the only phallic object that should be influencing your music has a trigger and a clip.
[3]


¡Forward Russia! - Nine
[3.67]
Peter Parrish: You know a band must mean business when they take to wearing exclamation marks like epaulettes. With that in mind, I was hoping for some Marxist polemic from these chaps; and beneath the oblique lyrics may indeed lie a rallying call to proletarian arms. I couldn’t find it though, it all sounded like stuff about rivers in Egypt. Indeed, the closest they seem to get to the grumpy bearded one is by sounding a bit like Gang of Four experiencing the worst day of their musical lives. This is probably not the cleverest way to speed the inevitable collapse of the free market.
[2]

Martin Skidmore: This singing is laughably bad, and the music is no better. It's as if they have carefully studied third-rate old punk/post-punk bands and decided that the stuff to keep is the inept singing and playing and shambolic tunes, and that they should dispose of all the energy and aggression and ideas. This ends up sounding like a second-rate, less imaginative Bogshed, which surely can't have been the plan.
[2]

Jonathan Bradley: The Jukebox’s most vocal detractors of indie rock tend to be British, and is it any wonder? The UK’s hyperbolic music industry seeks out clones of anything interesting so fast that even with Dear Old Blighty’s surfeit of great guitar-driven music, one must wade through countless Kaiser Chiefs or Dirty Pretty Things to find things like Bloc Party or the Futureheads. Living in such a musical environment would undoubtedly lead to any sane music fan instinctively recoiling from boys with guitars and bad haircuts. ¡Forward Russia!, though, are fascinating because they sound so un-British. Taking their cue from American-style post-hardcore rather than played-out post-punk, the nouveau-Fugazi yelping and brittle guitars are interesting if only because they don’t sound like Gang of Four. This track has more than novel influences to recommend it, however. Despite the chorus being a little saggy, “Nine” is sufficiently prickly not to become tiresome and sharply written enough to endure repeat listening. Please, no one tell the NME; the last thing we need is a half-dozen Next Big Things recreating this with minimal variation and maximum hype.
[8]

Patrick McNally: Bogged down in the Eastern Front.
[3]


Ashley Parker Angel - Let U Go
[4.00]
Hillary Brown: You adorable little puppy with the IQ of a goldfish, I very much wanted this song to be the best thing since Kelly Clarkson broke. I am rooting for you not to have to live with your mother-in-law any more and to be able to give your Ashlee-esque gf all she wants. The episode where you recorded this song was excellent. Sadly, it’s Mr. Pibb to Ashlee’s Dr. Pepper. Cut them slow bits out and you may have something.
[5]

Patrick McNally: Down on his luck former O Town shit-head makes a second grab for the gold with an emo-ed up “Since U Been Gone” knock off that sounds every bit as desperate as it is. As a special feature it’s got Autotune that’s unintentionally more prominent than that on “Believe” by Cher. If you see him in the gutter don’t kick him; it might give him more material.
[3]

Edward Oculicz: Is it wrong to be surprised that with that name that it's a bloke? Or to wish that this kind of flurrying angsty pop-rock nugget that sounds like an emo band minus the jokes had some.. jokes? Lyrics this banal delivered this straight-lacedly can't help but fail to impress. Now, if Ashlee Simpson had done it...
[5]

Doug Robertson: Busted are back! Albeit in the form of an American guy with possibly the girliest name in the world. Of course, the thing about Busted was, that for all their “Crashed the Wedding, You Said No”-style brilliance, there was an awful lot of chaff amongst the wheat, and this is definitely more throwaway filler than chart crushing colossus.
[5]


Tim McGraw - When Stars Go Blue
[4.33]
Jonathan Bradley: I’m more attracted to this as a concept than as a piece of music. Mainstream Country and Alt. Country buddying up is an intriguing prospect—perhaps a Dixie Chicks/Neko Case collaboration is next in the pipeline, or Calexico and Toby Keith can duke out issues of patriotism and immigration policy. Unfortunately, Tim McGraw’s take on Ryan Adams’s “When The Stars Go Blue”—without doubt a [10] in its original form—adds little and loses a lot; the beefed-up instrumentation steals all the delicacy and restraint that made “dancing out on 7th Street” and “laughing with your broken eyes” such evocative images in Adams’s hands. And while Adams’s cracked wail made it clear his concern was a girl, McGraw’s clear, strong vocal could be describing an astronomical phenomenon. Slick production sounds great on some country, but the best you can say for McGraw’s effort here is that he has good taste.
[5]

Martin Skidmore: This is the AOR meaning of the word 'country'—there's only a slight catch in his voice that points back at the yodelling old days. This is a pleasant enough song, well sung and played, but it doesn't have the guts of old country music or of rock, and anything rough has been polished away, and there isn't anything special or outstanding to replace the losses. The kind of record I forget while it's still playing.
[3]

Hillary Brown: Heaven help me, I do not want to like this white zinfandel-drinking song, but it’s more like Elton John than most contemporary country. One could make the argument that that this, in fact, the direction the current boots n’ trucks scene is heading, and that would be okay if there were still some shit kicked now and then. I think as long as you come even within a mile of yodeling, I may end up a bit wistful.
[6]

Edward Oculicz: This is, perhaps, the 755th version of this song I have heard (some exaggeration, although not much), and what they all seem to have in common is that the bad versions intonate the lyrics as if they're important and meaningful, when in fact they're a load of old cobblers. I'll stick with the version performed by Venke Knutson with the hobbit off World Idol, which emphasised the melody and made it sound sweet and stupid at the same time, rather than this stodgy, faithful retread.
[4]


Beatfreakz - Somebody's Watching Me
[4.40]
Joris Gillet: I've been googling for at least five minutes, without any results, trying to find out, but surely this can't be the first time somebody filterdisohoused Rockwell's “Somebody's Watching Me,” can it? This sounds so natural, so familiar, so predictable, so dull.
[4]

Edward Oculicz: I am suffering extreme fatigue of mindless sampled dance, despite being a sympathiser of any kind of moronic doof doof you can name, this just seems particularly cookie-cutter, templated and uninspired even by the not-exactly lofty standards of the genre. When I reckon forty minutes with Reason could have done the same thing, and no dancing in the chair eventuates, defense is kind of difficult.
[5]

Peter Parrish: Ah, using a “z” instead of an “s.” Well, I’m convinced. This song can only be XTREME and TO THE M4X, featuring HI NRG and ... oh jesus, I can’t go on. Tiresome marketing ploys, will you ever grow old? Wait, let me rephrase the question. Tiresome, one-tricks CHOONS with vaguely spiritual lyrics, will you ever just fuck off?
[0]

Doug Robertson: If anyone is keeping an eye on the Beatfreakz, it’s probably the unoriginality police, wondering whether they should be making an arrest here or not—please, throw in your own tired “criminal record” joke here or, given the uncredited involvement of Michael Jackson on the original, a “smooth criminal record” joke. But imagination is thin on the ground here, the seemingly unstoppable dancey tracks with eighties sample genre was already sounding tired and, perhaps predictably, dated shortly after “Call on Me” kicked off the whole affair and this, like a failed attempt at CPR, does little to breathe new life into the proceedings.
[5]


Sigur Ros - Hoppipolla
[5.57]
Ian Mathers: Kudos to the drummer, who, as all else goes epic around him, keeps thwacking that bass drum. Without that grounding, the soaring rest of the band (and the horns and strings) indulges in wouldn't be half as stirring. I gave up on these guys after the overly unwieldy Ágætis Byrjun, but the way “Hoppipolla” resembles an actual song suggests I should give them another shot. The problem with Sigur Ros has always been that they've had great moments stranded in vast expanses of nothing, and this time they've just cut to the chase. So nice to see them realise at least some of their staggering potential.
[8]

Iain Forrester: Blah blah beautiful, blah blah soaring, blah blah joyful blah blah blah… can anyone still bring themselves to care about this?
[6]

Martin Skidmore: One of the few good things, from my perspective, about arty rock or post-rock is that you wouldn't mistake them for Coldplay. Sigur Ros seem to have forgotten this key point, so here we end up with arty post-Coldplay, which no one in the world wants, surely? Disgracefully bad.
[1]

Peter Parrish: I thought this might be the one with the desperately bleak video of gas-masked schoolchildren playing outside in slow motion as ash rains down from the skies upon their innocent bodies. God, that one is depressing. This one isn’t that one, though. This one is the favourite of BBC television when they have epic nature programmes to advertise. Consequently, a few seconds into the uplifting tune I was happily thinking of huge flocks of birds taking off in unison, grizzly bears pawing at salmon and snow leopards running around being amazing. Which is fine, because that’s what the track sounds like anyway.
[8]


Adam Green - Nat King Cole
[5.60]
Jonathan Bradley: I feel like I’m meant to be writing about (or laughing at) the passionate bluesy swagger, but I like Adam Green better when he’s doing Moldy Peaches goof-offs, rather than Johnny Cash-style fire and brimstone. I guess it needs real commitment to succeed with this sort of act, and though Green’s a lot more focused these days, he still carries a touch of the slacker about him. It’s good enough for a diversion, but hardly a classic.
[6]

Edward Oculicz: Too smirking, too self-important, sounding too much like, um, Jim Morrison. And no bloody tune either.
[3]

Ian Mathers: In theory I oppose the idea of giving a song a higher or lower mark for the Jukebox because of the competition. But in practice that just winds up being another way of ignoring context, and in the context of this crop anyone who sounds like he's trying to imitate Scott Walker vocally and who sings the word “tragical” in the first couple of lines is going to get a pass from me on sheer good will alone. And in any case, as annoying as I sometimes find Green in this case most of the lyrics fade into a pleasant baritone blur, and anyone who chooses to match the rave-up portion oh his song with a passionate call of “Na-na-Nat King Cole!” was going to amuse me no matter what. Green is always better when we can't hear how clever he thinks he is.
[7]

Martin Skidmore: This is country rock 'n' roll—imagine Johnny Cash with a rhythm section that keeps forgetting they aren't actually supposed to be playing "Satisfaction." This is a winning style, on paper, but it doesn't have the depth of spirit or the energy of that combination, sadly, and rather lies there talking tough without convincing, like a big old drunk in a gutter.
[5]


Goldfrapp - Fly Me Away
[5.80]
Hillary Brown: This is pretty and swoopy, yet the way the keyboards are deliberately off the beat is messing with my obsessive-compulsive side. Dance music should not confuse you as to where to put your feet.
[5]

Edward Oculicz: Having exhausted all the actual singles off the still-mediocre Supernature, Goldfrapp are forced to put out one of the more pleasant album tracks. "Fly Me Away" is possibly the least meaningful and dullest thing they've ever put out, but it has a nice burbling synth undercurrent and an appropriately rising, not quite soaring melody in the verses. Perfect transient ear candy, no more no less.
[7]

Peter Parrish: I’ve noticed Goldfrapp coming in for a bit of stick of late, which seems rather harsh when characters like James Blunt remain at large. Maybe Alison ran over a few people’s pets, or something. She looks the type. Admittedly, the nay-sayers may have a point with this one. Oh, it’s pretty enough—but, like a flimsy blouse on a washing line, it feels insubstantial and mere moments from being blown away. A fine rendition of “pre-programmed example 3” from Noddy’s First Keyboard doesn’t exactly set the world alight either.
[5]

Doug Robertson: Do Goldfrapp really need to release this record? They’ve already been anointed as the style mag’s cool pop band of choice, and this, a nice enough but ultimately forgettable slice of the laid back electro cake, is unlikely to make any difference whatsoever to the band’s profile. For the amount of effort expended in promoting this record—no idea how much that is, but it must surely amount to more than they put into making it, though simply posting a handful of flyers through some random letterboxes would also amount to more—they could have done something more constructive. Like creosoting a fence in time for the summer.
[5]


Juanes - La Camisra Negra
[5.80]
Edward Oculicz: Having conquered much of South America and Europe, Juanes is going to either delight or annoy Western Europe. And worthily, too, this is a sharp, crisp Latin guitar stutter with a pleasing melody and a fantastic line in lament and sorrow. The guitar nags at you nearly as much as the chorus. By far the best thing he's put his name to, in fact.
[8]

Peter Parrish: Hmm, quite a dilemma here. With this translating as “The Black Shirt,” there’s a serious danger that it could be about tyrannical fascist rule. Equally, it could be about the whimsical charms of Real Madrid’s away kit. It doesn’t really *sound* like a Goya-inspiring narrative on man’s inhumanity to man, but on the other hand there are no obvious crowd samples or mentions of Roberto Carlos either. OK, playing safe, it’s a kind of mariachi-esque jaunt, which is potentially about love in some way. Unless it’s about football. Or Falangists. Though it’s probably not, since Juanes is from Columbia.
[4]

Hillary Brown: It’s jumpy in an almost Django manner—call it gypsy meets Super Mario—and then suddenly so pretty on what seems to be the chorus. The list of near-automatic likes so far reads: yodeling, accordion, handclaps, and, apparently, Colombia.
[7]

Martin Skidmore: This guy is absolutely colossal in the Spanish-speaking world, but it's kind of hard to tell why—he's known for being a highly idealistic and even anthemic songwriter, so I guess my inability to know what any of the words mean is something of a drawback. The acoustic guitar playing is quite bouncy and attractive, and his voice is okay, and there is certainly a tune. Maybe if I could understand, I'd grasp why he’s a mega-star.
[5]


Zdenka Predna - Vietor
[6.00]
Iain Forrester: There’s a nagging suspicion that if I could understand the words this wouldn’t be nearly as good as it is. For now though it’s a relaxed wonder which doesn’t really go anywhere, just looping the same acoustic guitar and gradually adding layers and layers of pretty vocals and electronics, but is so well done that it’s no less hugely addictive for it.
[7]

Hillary Brown: Their name sounds as though they’d be prominently featured in XXX3: The Return of the Diesel, but in fact the tune is sort of more along the lines of a very quiet Eurovision entry. They also appear to have listened to a little much white American R&B.; I think we prefer our Slovakians outrageous.
[4]

Doug Robertson: In her head, this is probably how Corrine Bailey Rae imagines she sounds, not irritatingly cheery with annoying forced positivity, but all acoustic, summery loveliness and laid back charm with a vocal that wraps its arms around you as it snuggles softly into you and whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Ignore FHM’s recent poll of the 100 sexiest women, if you’re looking for genuine gorgeousness, this is the place to look.
[8]

Peter Parrish: Yes, it’s time for yet another exciting adventure in the world of Internet Relay Chat!

{Me} I don't suppose anyone in this channel has an interesting comment to make about the song "Vietor" by the artist "Zdenka Predna"
{SomeoneElse} The hypnotic quality of having the two same vowel sounds in the two words of his name?
{Me} That is quite interesting!
{Me} Although I think it's actually a her, but I've forgotten.
[5]


Maarja - Could You
[6.17]
Iain Forrester: There’s a very good glam rock stomper hidden somewhere here, but it lays on the guitar hysterics all too heavily, without ever reaching the point of being ridiculous enough to be enjoyable. Maarje herself is, if anything, even less subtle, leaving it overall reminiscent of a less abysmal Anastcia.
[5]

Doug Robertson: And, as long as someone, somewhere, is manufacturing leather trousers, there’ll always be girls who’ll want to slip into an uncomfortable looking pair and rock out to their angsty heart’s desire. This could be an off-cut from Natalie Imbruglia’s album, so how much respect you have for the vaguely pretty but somewhat irrelevant popstrel pretty much relates to how much time you’ll give this track.
[6]

Edward Oculicz: Always the most engaging, powerful vocalist in Vanilla Ninja (and indeed, the stop-start truck-crash sonics of this recall the Ninja's finest single, "Don't Go Too Fast"), Maarja snarls and sneers and pouts through a chorus that's so instant it would basically sing itself, with lyrics so bad native speakers chuckle through their teeth as they bang their heads in sympathy.
[9]

Joris Gillet: My favourite bit of this song is the guitar riff at the very beginning. It sounds like it could be the opening bar of some death metal-track. This, of course, isn't a death metal-track but the Baltic Kelly Clarkson. Not unpleasant, although traditionally rawk and ugly guitar sounds seem to be a recurring theme throughout the song.
[6]


Katerine – Take Me Home
[6.17]
Jonathan Bradley: If you go through Pharrell Williams trash, and trust me, I speak from experience, you’ll notice that lately he’s been throwing out unused instrumentals from a few years ago—back when the Neptunes were still unfailingly brilliant, P was not a letter to be attached to Skateboard and people hadn’t forgotten about Chad Hugo. It sounds like Katerine grabbed one of these tapes, because the opening of “Take Me Home,’ has that funky bass line and kick-snare thump that the Neptunes used to do so well. But where the Neptunes would have turned this into pop gold, Katerine squanders it by piling on more of the same, as well as a limp vocal.
[4]

Iain Forrester: Essentially “Hella Good,” except rather than wanting to keep on dancing she wants to be taken home before they start “doing it at the club.” Fantastically fun and lyrically direct, with taut bass and great bursts of fuzzy guitar giving it a constant pressing urgency.
[8]

Joris Gillet: Can't remember why exactly but somewhere last week I found myself all of sudden digging out Lene's Play With Me album, and especially the ex-Aqua singers incredible debut single “It's Your Duty,” and playing them very loudly over and over again. This has the same sort of electropopglamrock-thing going on but, of course, not as brilliantly. It's got the bleeps and the rock guitars but lacks the sleaziness and a catchy chorus. Still more than okay.
[7]

Martin Skidmore: Electro-dance with a pretty good vocal and a strong chanty chorus. Most of it strikes me as a bit awkward, and it never gets going the way I was hoping, but I like it in a quiet way.
[6]


LL Cool J ft. J. Lo - Control Myself
[6.20]
Jonathan Bradley: Missy Elliott’s “Lose Control” wasn’t that great, and it had Ciara, so an LL Cool J reprisal is pretty much superfluous. Then again, this pretty much provides confirmation that Bambaata’s Zen-Zen-Zen-ing can be broken out to improve any middle-of-the-road track. I can’t begrudge LL—he sounds like he’s having fun.
[6]

Hillary Brown: There are things here that attract (strong fast beat that will inspire crumping), but it’s water-bottle-misted sweaty more than real sweaty. “Short and purple”? Not sexy.
[4]

Patrick McNally: Missy Elliott released a song with “control” in the title that sampled electro a year ago and now LL has his. But despite the guaranteed all-fun-all-the-time recipe of looping Bambaataa’s "Looking for the Perfect Beat," propping it up on massive 808 kicks and revisiting his “Going Back to Cali” flow (or maybe that’s Tone Loc’s “Funky Cold Medina”) there’s something underwhelming about it. Maybe it doesn’t sound single minded enough—there’s no way that Jermaine Dupri’s constant lame interjections should be able to get in LL’s way without LL mowing him down, but they do. If I hear this after four beers when I’m out and about I’ll be straight on the floor though.
[6]

Martin Skidmore: Filtered electronica at the beginning, plus some sexy Spanish singing, presumably from J. Lo, then some strong electro beats (which hark back to hip-hop's early days—I hear Bambaataa and Grandmaster Flash in this) and LL comes in. He's always been among my favourite rappers, and I'm pleased he can still (or, perhaps, again) make terrific records after two decades. This is wonderful, kinetic, and imaginative. A total pleasure all the way through.
[10]