Several years ago, Michael Jackson told reporters that he incessantly grabs his crotch because he is a "slave to the rhythm." While this statement went largely unnoticed-- probably due to the fact that Jackson's public image at the time was more closely related to his choice of "friends"-- those four little words came to me at the perfect time. As I was rapidly becoming more obsessed with music, my physical reactions to music were amplified as well, and before long, anything with even a twinge of rhythm had me dancing around like a caffeinated flea. Needless to say, this didn't do much for my social life-- I became something of a circus freak, "that weird guy with headphones." To make matters worse, I had yet to come up with an acceptable wise-ass response to the question, "What the fuck is your problem?" Thankfully, the King of Pop came through for me.

Yes, "I am a slave to the rhythm" certainly did its job, eliciting knowing chuckles from those well-versed in pop culture, and quizzical stares from everyone else. I thought I had the whole thing worked out. Until Don Caballero entered my life.

Despite the relative spaz factor of my movements, there had always been a pretty constant rhythm behind the music I listened to, assuring that no matter how goofy and awkward I looked, there was always at least a discernable rhythm to my soulless twitching. But when Don Caballero's What Burns Never Returns found its way into my collection last year, any shred of dignity that might have remained quickly disintegrated. Layer upon layer of paroxysmal rock guitar, coupled with Damon Che's insanely inventive drumming, left my nervous system in tatters and my body seizing in suitably bizarre patterns. Suddenly, being a slave to the rhythm just wasn't enough. I had become a slave to Don Caballero.

And what a blissful servitude it was. The band combined the driving, distorted guitars of heavy metal with the intricate arrangements and percussive elements of post-rock. It was a match made in heaven, and I was more than happy to forego my social standing to experience the immeasurable thrill of this band.

Even when I learned of the imminent release of American Don, I was still hooked on What Burns Never Returns, as well as Don Cab's earlier records. Though For Respect and II are considered by most to be their masterworks, I found the more fractured and complex rhythms of What Burns Never Returns more appealing. Thus, I hoped that American Don would take the band's signature formula one step farther, rocking harder and tossing in even more curveballs. But while American Don does show the band attempting to take several steps forward, they too often wind up tripping over their own feet.

The most noticeable difference between American Don and previous Don Cab records is the relative lack of distortion. While previous efforts balanced gritty, abrasive chords with intricately plucked clean guitar parts, American Don places the emphasis almost entirely on the latter. As a result, the album lacks the driving rhythmic and melodic force of their previous outings.

Another disappointment is the lack of surprise on American Don. Talking about individual tracks seems futile since they all seem to follow a very similar formula: clean, layered guitars, thumping bass, and thankfully, Damon Che's always-refreshing drumming. Still, time changes come far less frequently and are much less fluid than on past albums. And adding to the less exciting nature of American Don is the saddening fact that the more adventurous studio techniques hinted at on What Burns Never Returns still haven't been fully fleshed out.

But even with all its weaknesses, American Don still has the one distinct advantage of being a Don Caballero record. Of the countless bands trying their hands at instrumental post-rock, Don Cab may be the best at giving the rock equal billing with the "post. So even if it isn't suited for moonwalking, crotch-grabbing, or settling out of court for an undisclosed fee, American Don does little to change Don Caballero's status as the greatest band in the world for intense, convulsive head-nodding and the like.