Preteen Weaponry

Presumably the climax of the whole stumbling, stoned expedition arrives about halfway through the latter half, when some synthy Gregorian chant-style vocals trudge into the mix for a few seconds, but by the time the album reaches its dingy conclusion and fades back into feedback loops and distant alien static noises, Oneida seems to have inadvertently demonstrated only one thing: that, dude, having, like, rad conceptual ideas and high aspirations does not a good album make.