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What can be said about the band Spoon (or this record for that matter) that hasn't already been written, discussed, disseminated and generally dissected by the people at large? As any pop music fan or critic can attest, Britt Daniel and his backing band have produced another rock masterpiece, another shadowy and volatile six-string workout. But what exactly does that mean? Anyone can make a rock record these days. Hooks are a dime-a-dozen and sneering lead singers wash up onto the shores of Brooklyn everyday. But the answer to the question is simple: Spoon has distilled the essence of rock music into something so pure -- so refreshingly unadulterated -- that not being deeply moved by their music is almost out of the question. What was perfected on Kill the Moonlight is here outrageously exaggerated (often with success) but also dramatically pulled in, made closer and sheared with a sense of a clear directive and brutal introspection. There is no sound that does not belong, nor does the band find it necessary to resort to blaring fuzz-rock refrains to get the point across -- quite the contrary. Tracks like "The Two Sides of Monsieur Valentine" and "Sister Jack Spoon" swing and swagger with the best of them, but these songs are so carefully unadorned and so meticulously crafted that they come much closer to art than what we ordinarily expect from music that also makes us furiously nod our heads. The defining moments here, however, are "I Turn My Camera On" and "I Summon You." The former finds Daniel in a brilliant
