This album is sending out mixed signals. Cover art of a nude 400-pound man posing provocatively? A song called Farting With A Walkman On, sung with the wistful tone of someone staring out a rainy window? Singer Jimmy Franks deadpans the chorus to Ralph Wiggum like a teenage Leonard Cohen. The music isn't fun or danceable, at least not in the dress-up-like-rabbits-and-prance-around-Europe kind of way. It's straight-ahead guitar rock, so nondescript and morose, you wonder if it's intentionally dull as a joke. Not till the second-last song, Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss, do we get a sexed-up, bassy New Order-style cut, with the kind of jam that made The Bad Touch such a monster hit.