On paper, the Pennsylvania producer Tobacco reads great: a blend of Animal Collective’s seven-dwarf work songs, Madlib’s distracted hip-hop production and John Maus’s outsider pop, all wrapped in the raunchy fuzz of psychedelic rock. There’s even the plod of 80s video-game soundtracks on Home Invasionaries, and neat production flourishes abound, such as the plumes of noise on Human Om or the blurts of another track taped over sections of Let’s Get Worn Away. But his constipated rhythms are built from funk-free blocks of fibre, and the songwriting is poor – melodies are like puppies at a training class, either irritatingly restive or wandering off entirely. You need big dollops of generosity to accept that the numerous one-to-two-minute tracks here are anything more than sketches, but even if you’re willing, the likes of Wipeth Out and Dimensional Hum are still ugly – and worst of all, conservatively so. The whole endeavour feels destined for the bargain bin.
