I once read the results of a survey of college-aged, recreational drug users that I found particularly startling: almost 80% said that music sounded better under the influence. Crazy! What was the other 20% thinking? We have to assume that they weren't deaf-- that, of course, would make for a biased sample. Maybe they were fucked up when they took the survey.

Let's hope so, for music's link with drug use is as inherent as it is obvious. The more pertinent question isn't really if music sounds better on drugs (because anyone who's even slightly coherent now knows that it does); it's which genre sounds best bombed. The question is made even more complex when specific drugs, with their various influencing capabilities, are pondered. I considered making up a humble chart of my feelings on which drugs correspond best with which types of music, but alas, I have no experience with crack, heroin, or crystal meth. Besides, the question will be much more rewarding if you answer it yourself (experiment, if you must).

Regardless of your poison(s), I think we can all agree that the "chronic" makes "jam" music infinitely more tolerable, if not enjoyable. And the 37-minute jam that is F should be instant smoke-a-thon success. But, from my own experience with Fontanelle's latest EP, I can assure you that not even the stankest, dankest, juiciest nugs this side of New Hampshire could make it truly engaging. Featuring ex-Jessamine members Rex Ritter and Andy Brown, Fontanelle improvise grooves on the playful, Krauty tip for this EP's duration, but their repetitive, synthetic, and vocal-less jazz is more likely to induce a typical, marijuana-induced short attention span than zoned-out bliss.

A track like "Fulcrum" is immediately abstract, with echoing electrofunk keys, a plodding bass, white noise, and flickering hi-hats and snares. But the combination clashes so clumsily that terming the approach "polyrhythmic" seems inaccurate, and furthermore, far too kind. The signature change of the breakdown signals for all of these parts to restrain themselves and play together. This section, though, forges a drift of discontinuity that fails to make the song any more palpable.

Elsewhere, Fontanelle showcases a worst-case scenario for head arrangements. "Slow January" is a mid-tempo tune that consists of two keyboard chords, played about five seconds apart for the first two minutes. Popping drums, and slinky bass and guitar provide rhythmic support as the chords begin to interlock. Eventually, the guitar takes the lead, playing a succession of three chords before repeating an ascending four-note conclusion. It's as dull as a powerless snow day in Holland. Tracks like "Return Envelope" and "Floor Tile" are as mundane as their titles, no thanks to the rampant repetition that succumbs to, rather than explores, the few, basic chords.

The problem with F isn't its inherent pretentiousness; it's that all of the experimentation, especially at its most masturbatory, is delivered without a smear of conviction or energy. That the album is full of odd, sometimes conflicting sounds, and the fact that it's based on improvisation, makes me think that there's a drug out there that could bring F alive, or at least make it infinitely more interesting. I suspect acid would do the trick, but I wasn't ready for such a physical commitment. If you are, let me know how it turns out. If it's still crap, I won't be surprised. But at least you'll have had one hell of a bender.

-Richard M. Juzwiak