I once had a dream that the hamster I had when I was eight had never died, and had lived for years in my garage, despite the fact that I hadn't fed it. From that point on, the dream is just a blur of abstract terror, and I'm still overwhelmed by thoughts of how that thing might have survived, and what horrible form it might have taken on. The experience of listening to Therapy?'s career retrospective is not unlike that dream.

It feels like the return of my perfect teenhood, which was spent as a long-haired, greasy, flannel-and-torn-jeans-wearing (though admittedly dorky) rocker. My musical consciousness had begun with Nirvana, the Smashing Pumpkins, and their grungy ilk, and hard rock was my bread and butter. As the years passed, though, I found myself distanced from anything that could have been classed as "metal," due to the increasing backward-cap-and-wifebeater aesthetic which didn't mesh with my delicate sensibilities. Plus, it sucked trying to convince people that Paranoid was a work of art far more sophisticated than it's generally given credit for.

To be honest, Therapy? missed me the first time around. And I probably wouldn't have given these guys much credence if I'd heard them then, as I generally liked my metal bands at least as arty as Soundgarden. These guys haven't got a trace of art in them. What they do have is at least as much rock and roll spirit as the MC5. And an endless supply of undeniably catchy riffs and hooks, all delivered with the same ham-fisted bludgeoning delivery.

The tracks are remarkably consistent, if arranged seemingly at random. But that hardly matters; the band's oldest tracks are at least as good as the two obligatory new ones. "Bad Karma Follows You Around," one of the latter, is such a spirited number it's hard not get swept up in the sheer "rock power" of it all. On the other hand, So Much for the Ten Year Plan is an embarrassing reminder of the worst cliches of pre-Bizkit '90s hard rock, give or take an Alice in Chains record.

Like Nirvana, Therapy? were equally influenced by the Ramones and Black Sabbath, so those elements coincide easily within their songs. There's no evidence of "growth" or "progression" over the course of their careers, aside from the inevitable quieter tracks that came in recent years. But even these are as tuneful and as their loud/fast counterparts, with the exception of an ill-advised cover of Hüsker Dü's "Diane," where the band attempts the tired "string arrangement = maturity" equation with roughly the same success as a Poison power ballad.

Lyrically, these guys are all brooding and intense, and they've got the goatees to prove it. The teen angst is here in spades; they speak to the rock geek within with lines like "Your beauty makes me feel alone" in "Screamager." Who can't identify with that, man? And who wouldn't cringe when it's followed by "Screw that/ Forget about that/ I don't want to think about anything like that?" They do lighten it up on "Potato Junkie" with the anthemic line "James Joyce is fucking my sister," putting themselves right in line with their native Ireland's rich literary heritage.

I can't stop myself from feeling that this music is somehow "bad," and I have a palpable sense of guilt as I listen to it. Still, there's an undeniable appeal. Therapy? seem almost unabashedly retro and geeky compared to the current spate of rap-metal bands currently flashing across the MTV eye. What's most difficult to quantify, though, is that it's completely enjoyable, while simultaneously impossible to take seriously. File 'em under "guilty pleasure." And tell no one.

-D. Erik Kempke