“What happened to the family cat?”

It crawled under the back porch and died quietly.

The somber piano carol asking the question opens up the final Grandaddy album with a tone that finally tips the band’s scale between shiny, dry humor and disappointed, funereal alienation over to the latter.

After busting open the doors of the future fuzz factory, “Jeez Louise”, …Fambly Cat walks out to a hillside during sunset with an acoustic guitar with “Summer… It’s Gone” to watch digital daydreams slide into memory. It’s foggy with static, but with the effect of headlights shining through it.

“Rear View Mirror” saunters around a shag carpet with wool socks while “The Animal World” mopes.

“Where I’m Anymore” could just as well be “Lost On Yer Merry Way”. “50%” reminds me a lot of Grandaddy wanna-bes Earlimart’s “Burning the Cow”. 50% less words come out and bite. “Disconnecty” finishes up a lot like “Now It’s On”. That’s about all you need to know. …Fambly Cat functions as a disconnect from invention in an unappreciative environment.

“This Is How It Always Starts” is a cyclical laundry list of hollowness drowned in alt-tronic ether.

Lytle seems like the crazy guy in the next-door cubicle who knows his job is killing him. The album is escape and release from its convoluted alternative existence, feeling glad to survive while lacking fondness. Hypnotic, airy electronics often buzz and swirl, creating a semi-confused whirlwind of surreality that always laces Grandaddy’s music. It feels like the storm is finally dying down.

As this final album doesn’t progress as much as reflect, Grandaddy gives us an admirable send-off, if nothing else, doubling back over a lot of the good memories the band gave us. It’s self-homage, but sincere, as if any fan would have designed it.