At first listen, “Petite Fille” sounds like a mistake. Picture Stereolab-esque ethereal French-Canadien chanting over the disconcerting thwang of tennis balls and a dying Casio keyboard tumbling through a dryer as heard through a stethoscope, and you’re beginning to understand. Thankfully, however, “Petite,” and most of ROTS’s (take that STP) brief 13-song diversion into wacky aural mind-fucking isn’t a mistake, but rather as awkwardly inviting as anything you’ve hear lately, like the soundtrack to a documentary about Stanley Kubrick urinating. Who can resist?
At times gleefully frustrating, and more so strangely satisfying, Here Comes the Weekend, comes across as naively profound and subversively pretentious, a joke you’re in on but don’t quite get. And that’s where the fun is. You get the delicate beauty of “Dwarves,” and the simplistic absurdity of “I Had a Cat Once” (“I had a cat once / I let it go away”). You get the Courtney Love covering the Pixies squawk of “You Said It,” and the neo-‘70s accordion-goth feel of “Devil’s Eyes.” To call it eclectic wouldn’t do it justice; to call it incoherent would miss the point. At 29 minutes, Here Comes the Weekend is just long enough to keep you curiously interested and just short enough to leave you oddly wanting more. Apparently, that’s part of the joke, and for whatever reason, it’s damn funny.
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