The death of Mars Volta sound manipulator Jeremy Ward prior to the release of this album had me puzzled. Sure, the band were probably close to the guy, and seeing a friend die as stupidly and pointlessly as in a drug overdose can't be fun, but why were my fellow music industry analysts saying that this was going to change the sound of the band dramatically? After all, I hadn't seen them live, the only basis for comparison I had was the rather good but too-short "Tremulant" EP, which is rather straightforward in the instrumentation used.

As soon as I pressed play on my copy of "De-Loused In The Comatorium", I realised why his death was a musical tragedy for the band as well as a personal one. Sure, all the instrumentation was still here, but the noise was so highly processed and manipulated that it was difficult to believe that some of the sounds that I was hearing actually came out of the guitar. Musically speaking, The Mars Volta don't just bend the rules here, they tear up the rulebook, burn it, and then urinate on the smouldering ashes.

In pure terms of music, the creativity pays off handsomely. Drunkship of Lanterns careens forward like an out-of-control train carriage. Roulette Dares starts off with an oscillating guitar figure, but quickly moves into a brutal lightning-fast verse. The bass riff on Cicatrix ESP, provided by Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, thumps along for a few minutes, before giving way to an instrumental jam, one of several on the album.

So, if the music here is brilliant, then what about the lyrics? Not so brilliant. Half the fun on the album is trying to decipher just what the hell Cedric Bixler is yelling about. Even when you can actually make out the words, there's still no comprehending much of the cryptic babble. "ritual contrition asphyxiation half mast commute through umbilical blisters and boxcar cadavers!", he croons in Roulette Dares. He blabbers about "three half-eaten corneas" in Televators. Take The Veil Cerpin Taxt starts off with the declaration "You must have been phlegmatic in stature". Sorry, phlegmatic? Okay Cedric, whatever you say.

If it weren't for the inane nonsense that seems to make up ninety percent of the vocals on this record, it would possibly have been one of the best releases of the year. As it is, I'm afraid that it's agonisingly short of that goal, everything hear sounds great, except for the vocals, the one massive flaw that holds this back. If you can somehow tune them out, you'll enjoy this record a lot. If you absolutely detest pretentious music however, or absolutely require your music to have meaningful lyrics that have sense, you'll hate this.

The death of Mars Volta sound manipulator Jeremy Ward prior to the release of this album had me puzzled. Sure, the band were probably close to the guy, and seeing a friend die as stupidly and pointlessly as in a drug overdose can't be fun, but why were my fellow music industry analysts saying that this was going to change the sound of the band dramatically? After all, I hadn't seen them live, the only basis for comparison I had was the rather good but too-short "Tremulant" EP, which is rather straightforward in the instrumentation used.

As soon as I pressed play on my copy of "De-Loused In The Comatorium", I realised why his death was a musical tragedy for the band as well as a personal one. Sure, all the instrumentation was still here, but the noise was so highly processed and manipulated that it was difficult to believe that some of the sounds that I was hearing actually came out of the guitar. Musically speaking, The Mars Volta don't just bend the rules here, they tear up the rulebook, burn it, and then urinate on the smouldering ashes.

In pure terms of music, the creativity pays off handsomely. Drunkship of Lanterns careens forward like an out-of-control train carriage. Roulette Dares starts off with an oscillating guitar figure, but quickly moves into a brutal lightning-fast verse. The bass riff on Cicatrix ESP, provided by Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, thumps along for a few minutes, before giving way to an instrumental jam, one of several on the album.

So, if the music here is brilliant, then what about the lyrics? Not so brilliant. Half the fun on the album is trying to decipher just what the hell Cedric Bixler is yelling about. Even when you can actually make out the words, there's still no comprehending much of the cryptic babble. "ritual contrition asphyxiation half mast commute through umbilical blisters and boxcar cadavers!", he croons in Roulette Dares. He blabbers about "three half-eaten corneas" in Televators. Take The Veil Cerpin Taxt starts off with the declaration "You must have been phlegmatic in stature". Sorry, phlegmatic? Okay Cedric, whatever you say.

If it weren't for the inane nonsense that seems to make up ninety percent of the vocals on this record, it would possibly have been one of the best releases of the year. As it is, I'm afraid that it's agonisingly short of that goal, everything hear sounds great, except for the vocals, the one massive flaw that holds this back. If you can somehow tune them out, you'll enjoy this record a lot. If you absolutely detest pretentious music however, or absolutely require your music to have meaningful lyrics that have sense, you'll hate this.