You know you’re in for trouble when the biggest, darkest misogynist you know is “happily” married. Is Max going to regret having Sherri guest on so many songs, live, and on this album? Probably. Her songs are easily the most awkward to listen to, but he still manages to talk shit about himself and other guys in the process. The best to be found herein comes on songs written about her--in her absence--and a jilted, wonky, almost honky-tonk send-up to the chaos in the universe. Oh, he attempts to make it about her, but it’s abundantly clear he’s finally come to grips with his own insane inconsistency and how it’s all a part of this gloriously complex mess of a cosmos we inhabit. A (mostly) comfortable, respectable (enough) effort.