Recorded in Seattle in June, the album is a triumph of reckless abandon and youthful urgency, though disaster and gloom are the cohesive glue. Opening with the darkly unwieldy "Ways to Make It Through the Wall," the band establishes a breakneck pace and bleak outlook. The fuzzy title track benefits from synth swirls reminiscent of the Flaming Lips, weeping violins and an explosive chorus. It also boasts the album's most brutally honest couplet, sung collectively: "We kid ourselves there's future in the fucking / But there is no fucking future."
For such a young group, Los Campesinos! tackle music that's uplifting in execution and dour in discourse better than many of the elders from whom they are cribbing. For an album that celebrates all possible impending apocalypses and was piecemeal in its construction, it's a damn thrilling and infectious listen.
