Once again listeners find themselves listening to someone who thinks his problems are more important than theirs. Held aloft by a band full of smashed, beer-soaked leaping foulness and chord changes a few erratic pints away from Echo & the Bunnymen, but still someone who's more than happy to be unhappy just as long as it might sound interesting. What else to make of lines like, "In the city of grey and its meaningless day/I crave, crave, crave"? Or how Brett Anderson and Richard Oakes sound anachronistically evil flitting about in the attic of a couple of these dour-by-numbers selections? The band's guitarist may have joined Suede five years later, implying a nugget of kinship, but this is the equivalent of a dormitory's ubiquitous sourpuss reading Proust only when other people are watching.
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AllMusic Review by Dean Carlson