Most people just make music. These fellas make love. Like love, this record conjures up doubt, guilt, and that swelling feeling which precedes either laughter or vomit. It's worth listening to because havin' feelings is good, whether you enjoy it or not. So, anyhow, it can't cost more than $20, so you should go out and buy it. If you have any extra $20's lying around.

The aforementioned was written by my roommate Mike, who kindly offered to write a record review for me because I was feeling uninspired. Does it help? I admit that the substance of what he wrote is a bit vague. His adjustment for CD pricing (he's talking in terms of Canadian money) is a bit off. He tosses out the word "vomit" for easy comedic value. Plus, he says "havin' feelings is good," which is patently false-- we all know feelings are bad.

But given what Frosted Ambassador offers, it's a damn good attempt at writing a review. The band seems determined (at least in its artwork-- which, incidentally, was drawn not by a band member, but by Olivia Tremor Control's W. Cullen Hart) to say as little about itself as possible. Even the album's track listing is 12 blank spaces and instructions for you to "Write your own song titles down." There are vocals, occasionally, but when they appear they're blurry and not easily discernable. Goofy sound collage pastiches abound throughout, whether as part of a melody or on their own. Beats and melodies fade into each other.

All of this deliberately obfuscation does serve a purpose, however. See, Frosted Ambassador have made a mysterious drug-damaged hallucination of a record, and any attempt at introducing a straight face into the mix would have diminished the otherworldly appeal. Summoning a Sunday morning acid-trip jam by the Elephant 6 collective (the album is, in fact, an Olivia Tremor Control-related project), the music featured here is at once strangely inviting and simply strange. Picking out individual tracks is pointless-- the record flows from organ-drenched 60's pop jams to bleary-eyed carousel music to white noise interspersed with clap-along 4/4 beats.

You know that dope dealer down the hallway from you? You know, the guys with the tattered dreads and 12 packs of Budweiser. He may strike you as a boneheaded Korn fan, but when you play him this, you'll realize he's also a boneheaded Timothy Leary fan. Such is the minor key success of Frosted Ambassador. There's nothing here that'll stick in your head, so you never get to sing along with your inner hippie. Then again, that's probably not what these guys were going for.

-Samir Khan