It's impossible to predict what Tricky's going to do next, which is a nice change from, say, Marilyn Manson. Every track is progressively more confusing and disorienting. But his conceit is sickening and I'll be goddamned if it's not the most distracting thing in the world.

As far as musical inventiveness goes, he may even top the Beatles which is about as inventive as you can get (they only had a three-chord pop template to work from, so they changed things). His downfall, of course, are his shoddy lyrical attempts. As the abrasive rhythms and backwards guitars start their wacky mayhem, Tricky's thick, British, "sexy" voice comes along muttering, "Can't stand to feel / Hate to feel / Gone insane / Hijack a plane / Don't push me / 'Cause I'm close to the edge." Whoops! I'm nauseous.

His narcissism stands out loud and proud in songs like "Tricky Kid" which would be a hell of a song if the lyrics didn't go and fuck everything up: "They used to call me Tricky Kid/ I live the life they wish they did/ I live the life/ Don't own a car/ Now they call me superstar." Well, okay, Little Jesus. If you're that sure about it.

As usual, though, there's next to no filler and the songs blend together like a 3-D soundscape that fucks your body up and never lets you down. I won't be bitching about that. But damn! I can't stand it!

-Ryan Schreiber