By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
But though the album doesn't punk-funk the way the first one did, it's not like it refuses to move. Propulsive beats still manage to claw themselves to the surface from underneath gooey layers of murk. Instead of using rhythm as an engine to smoothly propel songs ahead, the grooves are sloppy collages, pasted together kindergarten-style from skeletal drum lines, manic howls, and distorted electronics. It's less sharp and visceral, more muffled and oblique. Where They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top grabbed you by the throat and screamed, "Wake up, wake up! We got our finger on the pulse of America," this record turns inward, possessed (and a little obsessed) with itself: "I, I am the boy," Angus Andrew chants.
Though some sections are plodding and one-dimensional, others lock into place. "There's Always Room on the Broom" cobbles a dubious but filling meal together from scrapings at the bottom of the sonic cauldron, and "They Don't Want Your Corn They Want Your Kids" (awful name, that) scratches its itch with beats recalling the Pop Group at their most abrasive.
They Were Wrong, So We Drowned takes its inner uglinessspite, madness, confusion, self-absorptionand spills it outward. Unable to stem the messy tide on its own, the album dishes out equal parts signal and noise, leaving it to the listener to sort out the goods.