I get the feeling that my brain was built to annoy people. Routinely I am told talking to me is frustrating, I talk elliptically or listing to me is like wading through 45 minutes of expositional dialogue just to get to the plot. Which actually sheds some light on why I like Japanese Breakfast; it’s 32 minutes of ADHD, nigh-schizophrenic experimentation, that will make some listeners squint in concern at their speakers. It all opens with “The Woman That Loves You” bumping a nicely synthetic beat, then a queasy 360 with buried, fuzzy vocals on “Jane Cum” that are perfect for pulling a blanket up under your chin. “Oh, okay it’s like if Grouper had a little pop-music baby,” is pretty much where your brain is right now. But your brain is wrong and bad and “Pure Handjob,” “My Mommy is Sick” and “Saturday Night 2046” will correct its shortsighted wrongness. The whole thing leaves a kind of giddy uncertainty behind, like the minutes after saying goodbye on a first date. Everything was a little too short, you want more again, but you are not even sure of how much more.
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