Maybe I should start again. What I was expecting was a taut Amerindie quartet knocking out songs about love and hope and sex and dreams. And maybe it's here. Or maybe I'm too far removed from my angst-driven years to put it all together. "Now she's milk and apples/You're scotch and segregation/Lips like molasses/You're smiling saccharine sidewalks" is the first verse to "Milk and Apples," a track I really like. However, I can't make much of the metaphor. If it's too oblique you're too old?

Having never heard Jawbreaker, nor the Jets debut a couple of years ago (oh, give me a break, how many bands are out there that you keep meaning to pick up an album from and never do), the first surprise was Schwarzenbach's voice. I think it's best described as Mike Ness of Social D., less thousands of packs of cigarettes. The lead-off cut, "You're Having the Time of My Life," certainly could have been cribbed from the Ness song title writing school as well. I find myself replaying "Mid-day Anonymous," "*******," and "Air Traffic Control," though too often tuning out some of the mid-album anonymous tracks. I'm sure neither they, nor their growing legion of fans, will like me saying this, but sometimes the Jets' arty introspection detracts from the art. This record is still growing on me, but it's saddled with the awful tag of "not living up to expectations."