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Fog is one of those bands that entirely exists in the mind of one man, and that man in this case is Andrew Broder.
Inside this album there's a great confusion and the usual shimmering fog of someone who changes their mind with every album and every song and perhaps hasn't quite figured out how they want to do what they want to do. But they do it so well.
There is much more drum machine than in the other albums, although you don't notice it right away, but he did say it himself: "no drum, no fun," and yet there isn't really that much of it. However, there are lots of crazy bouncing balls, lovely indeed, colorful, but then you can never know where the heck they're going.
There are unusual flashes of disarmingly sweet songs, slightly more... more... pop?!?! (Of course, pop is relative, not goldfish-pop) ...and these are scattered floating amidst a non-flow of sounds and bits of melodies stuck together with frayed twine of random noises you would never expect to hear in a song but which have their collar buttoned up to the last button.
There's Andrew's lovely lamenting voice which often becomes perfectly indie: "I'm rotten at keeping in touch, but I miss you very much," with the falsetto waiting for you around the corner.
Inside this album there's Andrew Broder who is COOL.
Outside this album is the most beautiful packaging in the world. (And I wasn't the one who said this)
"Squiiiiiirt guuuuuns fiiiiilled wiith piiiiiig's blooooood, fooooor real"
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