And it would appear I shot the bolt on the blanket fort thing…

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[4.62]

David Moore: Modest mouse is modest.
[4]

Anthony Easton: softLOUDsoft has become LOUDLOUDLOUDsoooooooftLoud, and they lyrics have moved from pseudo-surrealist mumbo jumbo to something resembling affective solipsism — but taking all of that into consideration, this year I have decided to truly love Rock and Roll, and mostly that’s because of this album.
[7]

Chuck Eddy: “Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked,” never reviewed here, was the only commercial rock radio hit good enough for me to actually care about these past couple years. This latest single (and much of their second album) proves they’re not as entertaining ripping off Modest Mouse and the Pixies as ripping off White Stripes. But they are still Kentucky punks (possibly punkier for not having an original bone in their body), and I’m still on their side.
[6]

Zach Lyon: Interesting, if only by Modern Rock Chart standards.
[5]

Jer Fairall: Post-grunge has long outlasted actual grunge as a genre by now, and while few broad stylistic categories have given us as few gems as this one (I’d cite Sponge’s two big singles, and maybe the Verve Pipe’s “Freshmen” as rare highlights), these guys at least favour buzzing punkish abrasion and a kind of melodic jaggedness over the constipated tunelessness of Bush, Three Doors Down and the like. Still, about the strongest endorsement that I can really give this is that I wouldn’t instinctively lunge for the dial if this came on the radio.
[5]

Alfred Soto: It takes chutzpah to sustain unresolved tension, especially when the results are this uninspired. I still don’t know what this band wants to say or why they want to say it.
[2]

Martin Skidmore: I hate the singer — he’s nasal and tuneless. The music makes some fairly weak attempts to storm in parts, but it’s all too clumsily constructed, and it quickly dissipates any momentum it starts to build.
[3]

John Seroff: Y’know, if you were a skinny jeans wearing, septum pierced, Gen-Z whippersnapper looking for your own personal Soul Asylum, you could do a lot worse than Cage the Elephant. As for me, the memories of the early 90s are bad enough already without having to dredge the lake for bodies.
[5]