Number nine, number nine.
Wow. Syd Barrett lives. This is one trippy album, and I mean that in the most obvious lysergic sense. It's an undisciplined, sprawling mess, but that doesn't mean I don't like it. I do. I think. Parts of Congratulations are really lovely. But those parts tend to be separated into twenty- or thirty-second splices, surrounded by more twenty- or thirty-second splices of sound that I don't like as well. I'm not sure how many songs are actually happening during the 12-minute "Siberian Breaks." Twenty or more I'd guess.
It's ambitious as can be. It's a total departure from the goofy, singalong anthems of the debut album. It's a natural for those who suffer from ADD, and who can't ... Wow, it's weird. It namechecks Brian Eno, and Dan Treacy, punk pioneer from Brit wunderkinds Television Personalities. So bonus points for that. It features cheesy Farfisa organ. All in all. Whoa. The colors.