MOG

It appears, dear reader, that I have a thing for spacey, psychedelic, trip-rock (I made that one up!) at the moment as I can't seem to stop listening to bands who get off on making their guitars sound like space ships. This probably stems from my affinity for guitar effects on my own ax that make it sound like a space ship when I'm playing in the dark in my room imagining I'm in an arena playing for 50,000 people, or it could have something to do with my mother, I don't know, I'm not a psychiatrist. The point is I'm reviewing another album full of music to trip balls to, which is crazy because I don't trip balls. I'm not even completely sure what it means, it almost sounds painful, like there should be an "on your" in the middle of it. Anyway, what are we doing? Oh yeah. You're all going to hear my opinion of the album "Cryptograms" by Deerhunter!

Deerhunter are a band of cyborg/alien hybrids from beyond time. Their "instruments" are actually a complex physiological system of valves and bio-electric cells that shape space/time to create sound waves that sound a lot like a Roland Space Echo. They also have drums. They've come from a distance galaxy to speak to us in their strange language of noise and fuzz and garbled yelps and to teach us the meaning of all things and I think they have some Nintendos for us, too. The cover of their "space record" is even an optic device used for controlling the soft, squishy minds of lesser beings to bend their will toward Deerhunter's master plan of reaching "space nirvana" through face melting distortion and reverse sitar loops. Deerhunter came to me in a dream-like state a few weeks ago and bestowed upon me their album and the special psychic link necessary to hear it in my mind's eye. They also gave me a note that said "``-~||-|~`{\", which I took to mean "how do we get back to the freeway from here?" After they left I mind-melded with the album and allowed it to take control of my mind and senses through some sort of warm and relaxing symbiotic grafting involving me putting the disc in my pants for some reason. I spent the next 48 minutes and 17 seconds zooming through the cosmos in a purple wagon driven by a team of flashing coconut shrimp on a joyride to oblivion, I think the in-flight movie had Adam Sandler in it. I saw the breadth and depth of the universe as no man before me and the visions of entire galaxies being birthed before my eyes threatened to unravel the very weave of my conscious being. When I awoke an hour later, covered in baking soda and postage stamps I knew I had to tell the world of my visit from Deerhunter. Imagine my surprise when I found that they had reached out to so many others and had actually distributed their cosmic record to stores where anyone could buy them. Feeling the overwhelming hopelessness and diarrhea I swooned and fell prostrate in the lobby of Best Buy as a man in a blue shirt offered a cordial greeting.
When I came to in the hospital hours later, missing wallet and shoes, I was told that my house had a severe and dangerous gas leak and not only was I lucky to be alive but that my pets and house plants were dead, too. Once released I returned home and replayed the Deerhunter album that I had been so sure was a gift from eternal beings of energy and light. Turns out even without the gas fumes and delusion it's still a pretty good record.
Puffmagic gives "Cryptograms" by Deerhunter 4.5 out of 5 Rob Gordons on the orders of the Galactic Supreme High Council of Awesomeness