From the very first time I heard the Opiates, I could not take them seriously and throughout this album and at all other points they have never given me good reason to do anything but turn the other cheek. They are wishy-washy, incomprehensible, indecipherable and most of all disposable. The only way to enjoy this CD is to make a complete mockery of it. Imagine Jennifer Saunders and Catherine Tate desperately looking for subjects. The nasal nonsense of the singer with the Opiates Billie Ray Martin makes me think that she's female yet I may be wrong, but her voice blends well with the buoyant moog riffs. The attempt to copy Austra is painfully obvious. Yet in all honesty, the singer can't sing and the rhymes and tunes were worn out ages ago.