Near the turn of the millennium, DMB scrapped a safer, more generic album’s worth of material in favor of this release and their fanbase essentially revolted, pressuring them into eventually releasing that more-of-the-same drivel. This is far leaner and funkier. More rewarding. There’s a perverse brazenness to the grooves and lyrics that even managed to attract the attention of the Wachowski Brothers. There is a dollop of hippie pap right at the end but it doesn’t dilute the sincere questioning and lamentation that the well-tread subject matter defining their collective agenda is afforded across the disc. I strangely think even Rorschach would approve. Indeed, this has always been a consistently surprising and engaging experience for me.
4 Exotically Percolating Realizations out of 5