NO NO NO. There’s something about the skilled, over-emotive lady-sing here that reminds me of every mediocre local band that I, cross-armed and expressionless, suffered through in the coffeeshops and bars of high school and college. Oy. I admit: insane or not, I tend to be horrified by “technically-nice” voices, perhaps because they, almost always lacking the essential quality of EARNESTNESS, sound so out of place when set against the rudimentary/ugly/braindead musics I prefer. And, yeah, sure, there are some fine, spacey, post-Gal500 moozikmoods on this disc (“Hear From You,” especially), but this record achieves a spectacular blandness most noteworthy for its inability to impress itself upon your earholes in any way; the needle lifts and you’ve already forgotten what you’ve heard. Just as coffee races through the urinary tract, so does the Imaginary Friend scamper through the skull. Mentally flush it.