Pitchfork

The original was a pretty wisp of a song in the first place, a Beatlesque coo over halfhearted piano tinkles and barely-there acoustic guitar. It's the single most sedate moment in the entire Franz oeuvre, as if that even means anything at all. The Avalanches usually take stuff like this and turn it into junkshop cosmopolitanism, layering Egyptian jug-band drums under all the fey whimpers. But here, they take a wisp and make it even wispier, whittling Alex Kapranos's vocal down to a couple of muttered asides repeated over and over and putting enough blissed-out reverb on the piano to turn it into Robert Altman background noise. And then they toss in vinyl-pop and ambient restaurant noise, and it ceases existence as a song entirely and becomes an ephemeral snatch of found sound. It's somehow simultaneously the most audacious and the most boring thing they could've done with it, and I don't intend to listen to it ever again.