As a change of pace, our family unit went down to the dreary Jersey Shore for a rainy, cold January Saturday night. It was me, your trusty (though sometimes foolhardy) reviewer, the hippie chick, and Penetrating Gaze Man-- that is our family unit. As the rain hissed on the streets outside, the wind whipping, we sat around and played cards, smoked a bowl and listened to Faithless. Always eager to survey the opinions of my peers, I quietly cheated while observing their reaction to the music.

Hippie chick was characteristically silent, not reacting positively nor negatively. She smirked, threw cards, and smirked some more. Penetrating Gaze Man was not so reserved. He fixed his gaze-- which is indeed penetrating-- upon mine and said, "This is pure eurotrash, man." When you put a penetrating gaze and a deep comment like that together, y'know whatcher got? A review, my friend, a review.

Despite my initial delight at the first couple of tracks, which could be likened to Blue Lines- era Massive Attack, I could feel only horror when I realized that his penetrating gaze concealed an stoic musical erudition not often seen. I perked my ear up, and indeed, we were listening to exceptionally vapid eurotrash.

My friend turned to the speaker and mocked, "This is the time on sprockets when we dance," his hands gaily twitching from under his armpits, his cheeks sucked in, his gaze, as always, penetrating. I laughed, cheated some more, and reflected on my disappointment with the record. The rain hissed outside and hippie chick smiled at me.

Penetrating Gaze Man was right. Here's the dope: the first four tracks hold up, the rest of the record is beat. I like house, but this shit is weak, sounding like the least interesting or engaging house this side of 1989. It lacks verve, takes no risks, and smells worse than my stinky britches.

Eventually I wound up in bed. It might have been real, or it might have been a dream, but I recollect something... strange. The scent of patchouli filled my nose and I knew hippie chick was near. I felt the tickle of her hair against my neck, a warm breath fluttered in my ear and a single whispered word made me draw tight, seeking my own inner warmth, protection from what she said... "eurotrash."

-James P. Wisdom