Listened to this album yesterday on big honking headphones while walking through midtown Manhattan, carrying two moderately heavy bags, on my way to Penn Station, to Newark Airport, for to carry me home to LA. Getting my body, my feet on the pavement into rhythm with the bags, navigating through and around the crowds, checking out a few New York women, watching the New Yorkers reading and talking and smoking in their parks. The fact that half of the resulting awesomeness came from the album informs you, reader, that it is awesome, and deserving of praise, and that it disproves the shadowy, gray, lifeless fears about the disappearance of the vital impulse in art that have been troubling you.

and thanks to piekoz for the rec