Inspector 22’s little-watched full-length on Odessa a few years ago served as a serially strange update on garbage-folk that came out of nowhere and turned a lot of heads around here (here being my listening room, ‘a lot of heads’ being mine). Guess what, dipshit? He’s back and full of super-baked beans, a cluttered, cocky mix of Jagger, Moldy Peaches, Pumice, Daniel Johnston, and, first and foremost, early, rough-sounding Neutral Milk Hotel. Todd Emmert is angry, yes, but perhaps confused more than anything else. He relates it well, and when you listen to it you feel less confused yourself. This is only one of the ways we suck the souls of our heroes dry; embrace it. A lot of folks (get it?) ventured into melodica territory back when Banhart was the big fuzz, but few did so with the dignity of Inspector 22, and that’s true of most of the experiments undertaken here, riffs snapping like a beef-jerky bite. Don’t limit this edition.
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