ello everybody, my name's Deen and I have a problem. Heir as I am to a national heritage of assholery, my chief sin is a chronic lack of patience in all areas of life. Foodservice tardiness'll get you a dirty look, a shit tip, or both if possible; slow Ebay shipments incur the most derisive comments I can muster and the permanent loss of my e-business. And if your record hasn't begun to breach my protective coating of indie-grade PermaJade (patent pending) by the second spin, the shite's headed straight for the customer service desk.


Because goddammit, I'm a busy guy. I don't have time to sit around and wait for a record to "hit me," because who knows when or if that'll ever happen? This is why I always laugh silently when I read reviews that say shit like "it may seem challenging at first, but it'll start to make sense around the 8th listen." Of course, by the suggested 8th listen, I've already run four discs through my double-spin test. See how much more efficient my method is? Now instead of wasting my time forcing myself to like one band, I've developed informed opinions on four.


Think of it this way: I've reached the point in my record-reviewing career where I feel fairly certain of what I like and dislike. And I can tell you that not even the most diligent barrage of listens will mitigate Millions of Brazilians' staggering somnolence. Sure, it could just be my irrational hatred of acquired tastes, but consider for a moment that the problem just might lie in Dianogah's chronic inability to do anything interesting with two basses and a drumkit.


Which isn't to say there's anything inherently worthless about the instrumentation per se; in fact, the best live show I've seen all summer consisted of just a bassist and a drummer shredding shit to pieces less than two feet from my face. See, Lightning Bolt incorporated into their sound the one element Dianogah never bothered with: unfiltered, gut-wrenching emotion. Brazilians' meandering melodics are certainly far beyond technical reproach, but so what? Its utter lack of anything approaching strong feeling relegates it to the realm of indie-flavored muzak, also populated by such bands as L'Altra, Brokeback, and Mogwai at their less than inspired.


Let's get on with the obligatory in-depth musical description, cuz writing this review is beginning to fray my friggin' patience. Brazilians is soft and harmless, as well as aimless. It won't make you feel elation, catharsis, or even intense hatred; the only thing you might feel is a little sleepy, especially if you've got alcohol in you like I do right now. Dianogah try and spice up our lives with a little hammond, synth and clarinet, but I only know that from reading the credits. It's not like I noticed the extra instrumentation in any of the songs. About the only thing I did notice was the crunchy drum production in "The Smallest Chilean," which elevates it slightly above its indistinguishable brethren.


I guess this is music you're not supposed to think about, because analyzing it is seriously making me angry. My miniscule daily patience quotient has just been blown on background music for pretentious social gatherings. If you like post-rock, put on Godspeed or Tortoise or even Mogwai but don't piss your time and money away on Dianogah. Otherwise, all my consternation will have been wasted.