There are some fucking amazing tracks here, maybe some of the best heard all year. But there are also some utter travesties too.
Yep, they're still going strong. The Dandy Warhols, those last junkies on earth, are back and strapped in for album number eight. It's a strange and murky affair predominantly with the occasional moment of perfect pop bliss, the band continuing to dip their end into a spectrum of styles.
Opening with the fantastically stubborn Sad Vacation, the track locks in a groove early and never lets go, the churning guitar interplay of Courtney Taylor-Taylor and Peter Holmström taking you back to those hazy weekend nights out and the depraved mornings after. The Autumn Carnival continues seamlessly where the opener left, the addition of haunting tiered vocals only adding to the bleak beauty. Following the surftastic buzz of Enjoy Yourself and instrumental pulse-racer Alternative Power To the People, however, the album starts dragging the chain. Rest your Head and 16 Tons are especially lacklustre and for a moment it seems like Taylor-Taylor and the gang have run out of ideas completely. But when the band rebounds with the joyous, uplifting jangle-pop of I Am Free the record finds a second wind, allowing it to stumble over the finish line, although, the great heights set by This Machine's first few tracks are never seen again.
This isn't a return to form, nor is it a complete mess of an album either. There are some fucking amazing tracks here, maybe some of the best heard all year. But there are also some utter travesties too. If they could've eliminated the latter and further built on the former, this album could have been a masterpiece. Instead, it's just another album from Oregon's dandiest.