The co-producer is Jim O'Rourke, the "other" indie recording maverick from Chicago, and a major contributor to SYR3. His hand is apparent in the repetition of sounds that build to slashing crescendos, not unlike the arrival of the #4 train at Union Square. This deft touch genuinely gives the music an urban feel, as opposed to the colossal spaced out moments of, say, "Wildflower Soul" from '98's stunning A Thousand Leaves. It's worth dwelling on this because the sounds mirror well the band's mostly Beat-inspired and occasionally such-declaimed, repeated lyrics as well as the city itself. She is only the cacophonous gridlock of taxi horns blaring to those who haven't found a tranquil moment in Bryant Park or on the rooftop sculpture garden at the Met or on a bench in Little Italy. A manhole cover graces the top of the CD itself. Could this band truly hail from anywhere else? Fuhgeddaboudit.

Thurston Moore still is a social observer of the highest order. "Small Flowers Crack Concrete" is a distillation of the past year's headlines in NYC where the cops frequently shot first and pleaded innocent later. Lee Ranaldo, granted one or two opportunities per album to step away from long shadows cast by the band's married skyscrapers, gives us the title track. It's another of his free-associated, though intricately told tales that for me may rank up with his crown jewels, "Eric's Trip" and "Karen Koltrane," once I've digested all eight of its minutes.

Remember when Kim Gordon went toe-to-toe with the city's best MC, Chuck D, on Goo's "Kool Thing"? A decade later, she drops the rhyme of the year, bar none. "Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider/Girls go to Mars, become rock stars." (Note to trainspotters: Sleater-Kinney has been a frequent support act for the Youth in recent years.) Pass up this disc at your own risk.