Alright, who do I blame for the "interlude?" Those little bits of between-song filler that have polluted every album from Zappa's We're Only in It for the Money to the Apples in Stereo's Her Wallpaper Reverie with unconscionable pretension. I'm inclined to indict Pink Floyd as the likely scapegoat, if for no other reason than it seems like something they'd have come up with. But raging against the origins hardly matters. Apparently, these things have enough appeal for auteur types to keep them in style. The following was said about equally-pretentious poetry and also applies: "When it's great, it's sublime, but when it's merely average, it's atrocious." I probably paraphrased that, but got the sentiment right.

Which brings us to Death by Chocolate. About the only possible way to worsen these half-formed "interlude" songlets is to render them as horrendous stream-of-consciousness "prosetry" taking the form of salutes to colors. Yep. Colors. Five tracks delivered in an accented android monotone and titled, in the order of their appearance: "Mustard Yellow," "Sky Blue," "Orange," "Olive," and "Red." Skeptical yet? How about a sample?

From "Sky Blue": "Iced cocktails and aeroplanes and t-shirts, clean washing and toothpaste on ice, Finland and Scandinavia at war over an ice block, swimming pools and old police cars..." Yeah, I know Scandinavia is a larger region which includes Finland. Maybe they meant Sweden. But when other errors-- such as misspelling Salvador Dali's name in a song title-- come up you tend to withhold the benefit of the doubt.

Okay, so even if you could take a penknife and scratch out just the portions of the disc that comprise those five brief tracks, you'd still have enough to make a decent album, right? Not really. Overtures at first-wave psychedelia, Merseybeat and the more milquetoast representatives of the Invasion form the foundation of musical influence. Not the sanitized Beatles influence, but the sanitized, disinfected, sterilized and irradiated sound of Herman's Hermits, Gerry and the Pacemakers and the Monkees. If you're going to outright steal a riff, why in God's name would you choose "I'm a Believer?" There's also a Doors-y organ sprinkled over a couple of tracks, and a '60s girl-group nod here and there.

The music isn't the real criminal, though. At its worst, it's just trite. Songs like "Magpie" and "Ice Cold Lemonade" actually rise above themselves and deliver toy-pop satisfaction. Likewise, the near-instrumental "Daddy's Out of Focus" features a spy movie feel with Pink Panther-ish guitar, fingersnaps and a secretive "Shhhh...." verse.

The more representative tracks like "The Land of Chocolate," "My Friend Jack," and "A, B & C" are infantile and have stunted development. Everything is spoken and not sung, with one exception. That works for Lou Reed but few others. Terrible novelties such as Dudley Moore's "The L.S. Bumble Bee"-- a mistake the first time around-- and Sally Field's "Who Needs Wings to Fly?", sadly, fit in perfectly. In fact, the majority of Death by Chocolate basically comes down to kitschy, helium-flavored air puffs. It's not enough to be taking the piss these days. You can apply a dozen "self" prefixes: self-effacing, self-deprecating, self-aware, self-mocking. But if you don't back it up with skill, all you've done is told a bad joke.

Unexpectedly, there's one bright spot on Death by Chocolate-- actually, a 1,000,000-candlepower, blindingly, searingly incandescent spot. And it's the unlikeliest of candidates: a cover of a simple, catchy pop song from Harold and Maude: "If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out," written by everyone's favorite Peace Train-riding Muslim convert, Cat Stevens. It possesses the hypnotic simplicity of a watch chain.

A lot of time and planning goes into making a CD; you don't just "accidentally" put something out. You have to hire people, rehearse, book studio time, etc. People listen and quality-check. Engineers, producers, band members, mixers, and masterers had the opportunity to be frank, take the band aside and say, "Ummm... no." So why didn't anybody?

-John Dark