Thirty-two years and 32 albums into their existence, The Residents' gradual move away from frenzied experimentalism has taken them into a parallel universe of avant garde muzak and theatrical lyrics.
As with Bruce Springsteen's The Rising, there are no explicit references to the World Trade Center attack itself, but this is an album full of despair, isolation, loss, pain and—hopefully—redemption. Its folksy, disembodied keyboard washes and softly intoned lyrics convey a sense of confusion without attempting to supply any simple answers. Disturbingly packaged, as always, by The Residents' own design company, PoreKnow Graphics.
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As with Bruce Springsteen's The Rising, there are no explicit references to the World Trade Center attack itself, but this is an album full of despair, isolation, loss, pain and—hopefully—redemption. Its folksy, disembodied keyboard washes and softly intoned lyrics convey a sense of confusion without attempting to supply any simple answers. Disturbingly packaged, as always, by The Residents' own design company, PoreKnow Graphics.
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