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He is a man unconcerned with his legacy, with critical response, with pleasing anyone but his fickle muse. So to hear albums as willfully uneven as Elephant Jokes can be frustrating, particularly when you know Pollard can crank out infectious pop bliss in his sleep.
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The thing is, this isn’t a bad album. But it is so full of mediocre songs--as are most of the albums since the end of GBV--that one has to ask why he just didn’t save up all the great ones and make one really excellent album.