As for the CD, it's hard to tell what the boys want to do. Is it intended for the comedy crowd? Music appreciators? Is it a lampoon along the lines of Spinal Tap? The songs, or stylistic parodies, often run a minute or two in length, abandoning the typical verse-chorus songwriting structure. The intent seems more to get the joke across, and move on. Interspersed through songs, the two are bantering, making wisecracks, as on the opening cut, "Kielbasa." The song sounds more like a skit on the Howard Stern show that evolved into a song, as the pair talk about "kielbasa sausage, your butt cheeks... shooting my juice in your caboose," and so on. Whereas with Stern it's a moment that's soon passed over, with the CD you're stuck, destined to hear it verbatim again and again, and in that respect, it becomes a tired joke. The sections of talking shock the flow of music, and listening to the drivel becomes annoying, as does the excessive use of the word "fuck" and its derivations.

Sure, production by the Dust Brothers is splendid, and guest spots by musicians like Dave Grohl and Page McConnell add bulk to the music, but don't really leave a mark. Perhaps those familiar with the duo will appreciate the disc, but the humor falls short for me. Its bluntness overpowers any creativity. (If you're looking for disguised sexual lyrics, check bluesman Bo Carter's Banana in Your Fruit Basket CD for starters.)

The persistent feeling of "wink, wink, hey, this is funny" comes across more like a mosquito buzzing in your ear. You just can't shake it. And the music, while good, and drawing on mid-'70s rock for inspiration, doesn't ultimately fulfill. "Dio," for example, at 1:40, is like a premature ejaculation (though lasting longer), over too soon, leaving one unsatisfied.

Where are Spinal Tap when you need them?

The lushness of the music hits from the beginning with "On Fire," a raw, Stooges-like cut embellished with a choir rather than traditional R&B/soul backup singers. It's on "Do It All Over Again" though, that the orchestra becomes apparent. What starts out with acoustic guitar and piano, sounding like the television theme song to "Welcome Back, Kotter," soon builds with tympani and horns to a Spector-like arena sound, as more and more instruments stuff into the studio.

Perhaps unintentionally, the thickness creates a sound akin to what you would hear as the credits roll at the end of a movie. You know that feeling when you stand up to leave the theater or take the video out, and you stop because the song is getting its hooks into you. You get that feeling from this disc, that limbo moment when you pretend you're reading the credits, but you're really just digging the music.

That said, it's kind of hard to isolate a tune as a favorite, because my mind just keeps wandering off as each song goes by. Right now, it's "Don't Just Do Something" playing, and it sounds like a fitting end to The Commitments. There's an Irish-twang, drinking-song, shed-a-tear quality to it. Funny thing is, I've listened to this disc a dozen times, and I still walk away with the same impression. And when I mention it to other people, they're like, "Yeah, it does sound like that."

Perhaps it's a nostalgic thing – harkening back to the '60s and '70s when orchestras and bands appeared together, but now only meet on film scores. If, though, this was the intent of Jason Spaceman and crew, they've scored a direct hit. See, now "The Twelve Steps" is playing – another Stooges/Stones influenced rocker, big fat sound, dirty guitar – and even though it calms down in the middle, it still brings visions of credits rolling after some British film about drug addicts. This is so weird.

There's a bounce to the tunes, a mirthful joy that pervades and oozes out of the speakers. And don't be misled by the slick production – this is an intently crafted album, a real work of art, comparable to, say, Like This by the dB's. There's a complexity at work here, as on "A Good Man is Easy to Kill," an unusual title for such a cheerful song. The tune varies between a Beck-like acoustic funk with a flute playing a catchy melody, to string-laden sections with breathy vocals.

To the band's credit, they skillfully infuse stylistic elements of the '60s yet maintain a freshness. There's almost a sense of naivete – like a hick from Kansas on his first day in NYC. But you know these boys are sharper than that.

A song like "Gene Autry" begins by sounding more like Wilco before falling away with a descending pentatonic run on piano. Yet the song remains buoyed by a steady rhythm on acoustic guitar. By the chorus, it all collides in a beautiful mesh of harmony. Even when the boys try a funky approach, as on "Hey Brother," the result is a success. Beginning like an Al Green tune with strings prevalent over electric piano and horns, it slides effortlessly into a '60s chorus before escaping back.

The attention to detail here is excellent, and the '60s feel may remind you of surfboards, Laugh-In, and the Tet Offensive (should you be old enough to remember). No matter how you slice it, rest assured this is a solid pop album, one that will stand on its own long after other discs have collected dust in the discount bins.