Caught in the Carousel

Midnight Juggernauts

Dystopia
Astralwerks

If Supertramp and ELO had a love child it would be Midnight Juggernauts; they rhyme like "The Logical Song" and harmonize like Jeff Lynne's dream of an unreleased Beatles album. Then, throw in some thumping bass and a click-track or two and you have "Dystopia!" When I was first playing this CD around the office, my assistant, Nursey, after an especially difficult bunion removal, commented: "This is the music you'd play to someone who was waist-deep in a dark pit of lukewarm water and hot dogs in order to make him go insane."

It is exactly this "Zen truism" producing ability that keeps Nursey in my employ to this very day. I admit, though, I was concerned initially because the track "Road to Recovery" was iTunes' free song of the week. iTunes has the unique ability to choose a different, totally lame song each week and give it away for free, like an itchy disease.

I could only identify 4 decent tracks out of all 13 on this album. For pure surrealism, track 5 ("Worlds Converged") with its barbershop quartet harmonies mixed with an "Eye of the Tiger" Survivor-type rhythm track, beats all previous records for running, jumping, or pole-vaulting weirdness. Tracks 2, 3, & 11, "Ending of an Era," "Into the Galaxy," & "Nine Lives" are okay songs. Really. "Nine Lives" is actually pretty catchy. There is even a shout-out to home-grrl (?) Patti Smith in track 3, "Into the Galaxy"—for some unknown reason. All 13 tracks begin well, but 9 get terribly lost very quickly, like Grandma driving on the 24 FWY at the 680 interchange.

Perhaps I was in med-school for way too long, but I like songs with long lists of comparisons to at least try to make the listed items relate to each other in some way or another. On track 10, "Tombstone," the refrain constantly asks:

"Is it a war zone,
Is it a radio,
Is it a firewall,
Is it a death toll,
Is it an atom bomb,
Is it a tombstone?"

Which one of these things does not belong here? Not sure about you, but a radio does not instill in me the same state of hyper-fear as an atom bomb or a war zone. It's not that I want pop songs to make sense—I've just about given up trying to figure out who let the dogs out. Woof, woof. I mean, come on, would EBN OZN have a career today if songs had to make sense?

—Dr. Slurpee, Podiatrist to the Stars