Title: The carpenters signal the birth of punk.
Review: Now this is one trippy, existential album! Wow, I guess I can't say I actually like it, but checking it out you sense the vacuum of Richard and Karen's worldview. From it you see the roadsign arrows: one way points to empty, nominded valium melancholy, a shopping mall nightmare of consumer zombies. The other points to the _only way out_: the blaze and fury of the metal jihad. But hey, seriously, this is a psychotic album. Goes well with molded jello salad, heavy doses of barbiturates and old Albert Camus books with small print, read under the dim glow of a 5 watt desk lamp at 4 in the morning. God bless Karen and Richard. God rest Karen's soul. This is some twisted genius that stares directly into the abyss. Yikes!
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