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No más is more like it. No rhyme, no reason, no grunge. Fresh off the heels off its album de la decadence, Vitalogy (the last decent PJ album, in my opinion), our Seattle über-friends here decided that: no, they would not break up because (a) their singer shot himself in the face (Nirvana); (b) they simply didn't want to do it anymore (Soundgarden); or (c) their singer was a fucking junkie (AIC); and instead opted to (d) keep going, even though they were no longer relevant under the watchful eyes of "De Civitate Dei" and had sorely squandered what little originality they had by looting and pillaging from themselves. Понимаешь?
So, let's review it, shall we? Do you like childish repetition "Sometimes?" or find yourself questioning "Who You Are," or simply prefer to "Smile" and show off your glistening little zoobies? Or perhaps, you would rather strum a guitar so slowly that it always seem like you're in the "Present Tense" while telling everyone about "Mankind?" Oh, and when you sing "I'll be playing with my magazine / Using up my listerine / Like Ovaltine" -- I actually want to throw myself in the fucking ocean and drown to escape such egregious lyrical nonsense -- and I'm actually only a hop, skip and a jump away. "In My Tree" is perhaps the only great song (the bass and drums clinch it), while "Hail Hail" and "Red Mosquito" are pretty decent as well. "Lukin'" is short, in a funny kind of way; it doesn't go on long enough for me to hate it, so I sort of dig it otherwise. The rest is fucking hogwash. Total musical excreta. A reason to read How to Kill Yourself the Hemingway. Oh, oh, oh, I got a better one! Ever wonder why Sylvia Plath and Assia Wevill killed themselves by sticking their heads in the oven? Common belief says it was Ted Hughes and his incorrigible demands; but it was Pearl Jam. Really. D+