The Breeders Title TK

We've got a strange one here - a schizophrenic soundscape that deceives and disorientates with little swerves from the left side of the road. At times beautiful and beguiling, but also bare and brooding; welcome to the world of The Breeders 2002.

With a break of nine years and stories of drug addiction and musical meticulousness abound, this was never going to be a comfortable ride. So much has happened in the musical landscape, since the Deal sisters last blessed us with their distinctive take on fuzzed up pop. How would they return? By doing whatever the fuck they wanted of course and it is a commendable return; sounding oddly contemporary and at the same time like nothing around at the moment. There is a bloody-minded and eloquent thread of creativity that winds its way through Title TK, which is missing from so many of the current style conscious shelf fillers that couldn't muster an original idea if it was mainlined into their indolent grooves. What these pretenders don't realise is that to create something truly timeless, you must disregard the influence of the times and the alluring spectre of fashion and its shallow rewards.

With the help of Steve Albini, Deal and Co. have created an album of eccentric pop sparseness, imbued with odd hooks and heartbreak. There are clattering punk flashes (Huffer), leftfield bruises (The She) and moments of stupendous sadness (Off You), killing quietly with lyrics like "but I've never seen a starlet, or a riot, or the violence of you"; integrity never sounded so good.

If you listen real hard, you can almost hear the sound of Kurt Cobain, turning contentedly in his bastardised grave.