Expectations are not unfrequently curious proclamations; whether we’re dissecting the cavortacious mayhem of prickly pine needles falling from the D.C. Straightedge evergreen or the inexpliciality of the magma-thick faux-indie galestorm blowing off a new Animal Collective vinyl lake, and yet, so frequently do we affix our bronzed sextants to these such quixotic instruments of remorseless incredulity, ourselves ignorant towards the implications of our occupations as acting frenologists hoping to derive meaningful humanistic character insight from the existentially biological cranial slope of the human skull.
Nonetheless, it is by these expectations through which our musical endocrine systems must gyrate, squeezing off hormonal juices of satisfactory delectation based on intellectual presuppositions of regret-appointments booked months in advance by our cynicism-fueled diligence, essentially tossing a verdict to the magistrate before the sophomore album’s attourney opens his devil’s-advocating teeth.
This is not to say that the new music video from the Philippines prisoners who brought us the intricately constructed McClarenesque “Thriller” video is an inevitable victim of part-deux devourment — it is merely a personal proclamation that I won’t be studying Newton underneath these pine trees:
(read the middle seven paragraphs of this nonexistant review and other equally helpful reviews at Pitchforkmedia.com)
