Those of us in the know have a clue as to what makes a great Cocteau Twins album: whether or not it gets you laid. Treasure and Heaven or Las Vegas were great albums. Blue Bell Knoll and Head Over Heels were pretty good, too. Garlands worked nicely on an occasion, now that I think about it. Milk and Kisses will probably get you one or the other, and it begins with the word "skim."

Continuing the downward slide from the Four Calendar Cafe, Milk and Kisses proves that once a dreamy band gives up drugs, they may as well hang it up. From what I've read, Simon Raymonde and Robin Guthrie were coke heads. Huh? How does cocaine lead to ambient dream rock? I guess it made sense; Boston was also into layers of guitar and organs, but they didn't have a chick tempering the mix. Do you realize what the potential for overproduced cock rock could have been minus Elizabeth Fraser plus... oh, I don't know.... Edgar Winter? Fuck "Frankenstein," man, this could have been huge. An albino and a couple of British dudes snorting lines of coke and turning what could have been "Pandora" into a synth-rock epic for the ages.

Sobriety hasn't been too kind to the Cocteaus. I dug the use of the swooping pedal steel in "Rilkean Heart," and Fraser's vocals still enchant, but she sounds bored. I could see her leafing through a copy of something intellectual and laying down another vocal track at the same time. Not only that, but Milk and Kisses didn't get me laid. Then again, having a date with me while I spun it might have helped. On the other hand, I doubt it. She probably would have laughed at me for being so sensitive and asked me if I owned any Cranberries CDs. (No, I don't.)

-Jason Josephes