"So The Fiery Furnaces have done this live release thing called Remember , yeah? It's totally like packed to the rafters with y'know, stuff they did at shows and shit, OK? They've done it over these two CDs and even a triple LP thing. No bullshit, right? You still with me? It's tough following me, I know. I'm so full of crazy maverick ideas that people get lost when I try to explain, OK? So I've never actually heard this band before now and they're totally whacko, like Stereolab if they were trying to cover old garage rock tunes on the wrong instruments with fluctuating power while crazy off their faces on 'ludes and there was only two people left in the band Stereolab because all the other members of Stereolab have OD'd on the 'ludes and now they're being driven to hospital in an ambulance with a theremin instead of a siren that's being played by a cool black dude with sunglasses on even though it's 3am, right? My ideas are important! If you don't stay with me I'll lose my train of thought and my genius might be lost in time's ether. It's sort of like Devo, a backwards White Stripes and the Delta 72 all being jammed into a blender with 'wonky indie rock' written on it in sparkly silver permanent marker, then they get poured out and a pair of revolver-weilding floating hands shoot them up with magic JFK bullets made by that guy from Xiu Xiu in his basement where he finely hones his armory skills day and night, his only company being Jeff the pig who he forced into bondage gear when he bought him as a sow and now the PVC is all stretched because Jeff has grown and Jeff is sick of the chafing so he's started to dabble with knives and hard drugs. What a great image, OK? We're done with this review now guys, right?" ...And that was the last time I tried to imagine what a review of a Fiery Furnaces record written by a senile Quentin Tarantino might be like.