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  Moldy Peaches  
  The Moldy Peaches  
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Perhaps it was providence that this album was released on the day the world stood utterly still. Maybe it was some sort of more powerful force at work that at least had the good grace to bury this release as far out of our individual and collective consciousnesses as possible. I'm always looking for the cloud's silver lining, you know.

I can't think of a good reason to dredge yourself out of your post-9/11 lifestyle, whatever that may be, in order to "re-discover" this album. While an occasional song here or there will toy with a melody, hook, or counter-riff that might be interesting if it had better company, the vast majority of the album is a hodge-podge of in-jokes and smirks on the parts of the artists. The production is low grade masquerading as lo-fi, a companion in spirit to the Athens-area branch of the Elephant 6 collective, and thus worthy of little more than trash bins and acetylene torch experimentations.

Perhaps if these guys decided to actually work on their songs and turn them into something other than a bonfire of vanities their next release will be worth listening to. Nothing similarly hopeful can redeem Moldy Peaches, though.

Two sponges, though I pity the fool who spends good money on this thing. Unless you think The Music Tapes are just the greatest thing since sliced bread run like hell from The Moldy Peaches.

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