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A woman wakes up in the company of a stranger, the implication being that they’ve had sex (“Sunday morning I’m waking up/Can’t even focus on a coffee cup/Don’t even know whose bed I’m in”). A lover is referred to as “the devil in me” (“Setting Sun”). Behind the computer-driven sounds of “Electrobank,” a fuzzy, yet audible f-word appears. Even the all-instrumental tracks serve up annoyingly hypnotic sensory overload. This band’s incessant barrage of nonsense, set to a dizzying repetition of the same eight or ten notes, is inherently nerve-wracking.
Explosive musical chemistry. It’s a shame the unrelenting, intoxicating dance beats don’t subside long enough for young listeners to clear their heads. Lyrics offer more tangible evidence that The Chemical Brothers are experimenting with unstable elements.
