Pitchfork

I am suspicious of the extraordinary. I loathe the exceptional. I seek the lowest common denominator. My favorite movies are Last Action Hero, Batman Forever and Spiceworld. My reading interest evaporates at anything beyond the back of a salt packet. I eat hamburgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I masturbate frequently to Internet Porn.

Towa Tei disturbs me. It is senseless eclecticism. Seeping with self-conscious neo-techno irony and Casio kiddie key sounds, it bobs from airy techbeat to techbeat with little but a smirk and a smidgen of eccentric samplings. Though it bears more than a passing resemblance to Tei's work with Deee-Lite, it favors a more mell-o, acid jazzy beat to the loopy acid-howse that he, Lady Miss Kier, and Super DJ Dmitry used to throw down. It is not at all like Thriller, No Jacket Required or 1,000 Fires. I find it troubling, and am sure that The Devil, "Bob" or Candice Bergen are somehow involved in the plot.

Towa's second album is so mocking, cheerily getting on the goofball groove without a hint of ego and admittedly missing the full dose of good measure. Integrating pop elements from the last three decades (with attention on the '70s), Sound Museum achieves in easy listenability where it falters in depth. I don't like it a bit, it's different. Be smart. Why want what we don't like? Hold your electric blanket close, suck on your caramel-flavored pacifier and drool for the next flashy media gem, my kiddies. It's good for you. It'll make you grow up big and strong. It'll make the opposite sex want you. It'll make you cool. It'll make your penises and breasts grow huge and gorged with pulsing blood. Towa Tei isn't important, kids, just forget we discussed it. Now, your credit card number, please?