That the Lips could start with a gem like “Convinced of the Hex” and then lapse into something so ridiculous as ”Evil” two songs later is perplexing and uninviting. It's also unnervingly typical. The band that once promised greatness continues to gently grip the irony bandwagon. Nothing cool about stupidly orchestrated pabulum stuck in the middle of a seriously decent batch of songs. You might say Sabbath did something like that—who doesn't skip “Fluff” off Sabbath Bloody Sabbath?—but the Lips have made it a self-indulgent habit that ruins releases wholesale. And while we're here, must we be so over an hour? Someone thinks highly of them selves! Let Pitchfork devote all the words to them. Wise readers will continue to write the Lips off as an unpleasant mainstream annoyance that turned its back on possibilities of greatness long ago. [Warner/Reprise]
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