ok so we all know pitchfork is a bunch of chumps, fools, and sucka ass sluts, so we won’t laugh too hard at their pathetic review of this album. clearly their attempt at “earning” their colby english degree was in vain because the critique found on said page might as well have been written by a marine.

anyway, as the aforementioned review completely failed to realize, the point of a rarities/bsides album is not to mimic anything, it’s to compliment existing material. obviously the pitchfork author has run into problems like buying a darkness single and expecting 5 sweetass versions of “i believe in, etc…”. rad.

with that said, this album pulls a T1000 into the ribcage of the ridiculously complex paint-by-numbers that broken social scene slaps down with the whole of their catalog.

so feel good lost is their mellow chill ethereal album, right? and you forgot it in people is their glowing, green meadow album, ok? well pretend you’re napping under a large tree in the forest. and you’re a baby deer. so your mom (beehives) comes up and nuzzles you to wake up. and you slowly walk through the forest, getting sharper with every step. as soon as you see the opening through the trees, you half-sprint into the bright green. and that’s how this album gets you from feel good lost to YFIIP

the feel good lost connection is pretty apparent in all of the tracks. a handful of long songs, long electronic hums, silky smooth synthorchestra and a whole bunch of other goodies to chill you out after your long day at the office, or racetrack, or goat ranch, or whatever. when backyards rolls around, you get the feeling that they have even more talent and charm than the record company banked on when they unleash a track that would be well-served on any prog-rock/post-rock album of the mid 00’s. when da da dada hits, you get the point that this is giving you an anthology-esque peek inside YFIIP, which is what we all have been dying for. signed sealed and delivered.

more sweet, tender atmospheric space rock (oxymoron) follows until the album ends on the revealing version of lover’s spit that threads fishing wire around you like a spider cocoon and hangs you out on a brooklyn clothesline in the cold rain. goodnight.

4MI: http://www.arts-crafts.ca/bss/beehives.html