This modern composition is not quite jazz, or minimalism, or folk, or anything... The Books try to hover somewhere in-between all of these things. Like most other post-punk, conceptual, and No-wave artists they attempt to illogically fashion their own assortment of non-music. I may be deemed incorrect in the eyes of enthusiasts, but I am no longer impressed. Ok, I will admit that there are some high points, and I will probably never discard this CD into the for-sale / burn on the fire stack. But, this does not deserve a 5 or even a 4. The arrangements jangle along with plucks and twangs, and they occasionally become something great. However, the great parts only last for a few minutes, and the other tracks just meander haplessly in search of themselves. In the meantime audio samples joggle through meaninglessly like an insomniac halfheartedly channel surfing cable television. Some dull moments tend to echo Aphex Twin's monotonous cacophonies, only without the abrasive and offensive refuse that he typically falls back on. But, the Books keep clanking along hoping that everyone will be fooled. This album reminds me of the variety of the people attempting to establish themselves as Artists by constructing Color field paintings in 2003. Hello, does anyone out there remember John Cage and the philosophical roots of this audio technique? The past has already proven that anything can be art, and likewise anything can be music. These statements opened the way to the endless creative operations of the mind. For the Books to merely replicate these accounts of the past is excessive and trite. There is no apparent inventiveness or endowment here. In my opinion, it seems that people see transparent nonsense as an equivalent to genius. So, I recommend this to any person who believed that 'Kid A' was a revolutionary masterpiece. You deserve yourselves.