Ewww. Not that word. Yuck, yick, and patooie on "love." We're talking mutual gratification buzzes, and all there is to that is personalities in constant danger of being/not being compromised. So blecch, I say. Blecch you very much, Seekonk. And yet, what a great ethered little gem your gentle love song opener is! As a professional critic, I'm obliged to impart this truth: I'm in love with it. Because these inanimate objects called songs are much more dependably loving - just so long as you don't associate it with that certain somebody. When I hear the singer softly intone that he's "in love," I can only hope he's talking about the beautifully hushed sounds he and his bandmates are billowing out. Because, ideally, being in love is faceless and lustless. It should work as though the struggle is ended and your nagging vexation is melting into a weightless sense of wonder. Kind of like the feeling Pinkwood is instilling in me as I listen. A feeling that 'right now' is all there is - and nuts to you if you want to dispel this contentment as mere Van Halen philosophy 10 1. Love
2. Armstrong
3. Air
4. Powerout
5. Mar
6. Take My Wife
7. Orange & Blue
8. The Great Compromise