Ruining perfectly good pop songs by switching around time signatures and song structures for the sake of doing so? Fine. Recording a damn near unlistenable record with one's aging granny? Okay, I can deal. But this, Fiery Furnaces? You've got to be fucking kidding me.
At first, I gave the Friedberger siblings the benefit of the doubt; perhaps they were talented songwriters who were just giving into the wrong urges. But no, kids; you're just the most unbearably pretentious duo ever to come out of Brooklyn. Congrats.
Honestly, John Cage would probably call you guys pompous cunts.
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