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A decade ago, Ariel Pink crept out of his rented room in an ashram off Crenshaw with reels of spindly, self-destructing love songs. On his new album, the CalArts alumnus remains the stylistic next-of-kin to Frank Zappa: satirical, divisive, and more interested in terraforming genres than neatly deconstructing them. - Jeff Weiss, Pitchfork
