Obviously even the most basic rudimentary skills such as being able to string a couple of chords together to construct a melody and writing lyrics with the intention that someone in your band knows how to sing are no longer necessary to get a record deal in this day and age?s ?American Idol?- inspired philosphy of ?everybody is a star.? I guess it helps if you own the label, which can be the only possible reason this puerile, incompetent, rubbish ever got committed to silver. Otherwise, interminable, unlistenable shit (for lack of a better term) like this would never be foisted on an unsuspecting public. Tracks like ?Tight Spot,? ?Latinos? and ?Quest For Nomads On Fire? are little more than unstructured noise that would give Captain Beefheart a headache, coupled with vocals that consist of humming, burping, grunting, faux Pythonesque female screeching and bowel-clearing yelping. Not in my worst frat party-induced drunken haze would I find this adolescent amateur hour listenable, let alone enjoyable. 1/10 -- Jeff Penczak (16 June, 2005)