To begin with apologies are due for not getting a review for At War w/the Mystics until well over 4 months of its release. But I have a good excuse. I'm sure all of you have heard or read the news of my harrowing tale of survival in the wilds of Scotland. As it happened I was just pulling ashore after a brisk zip around the incredibly picturesque Loch Ness aboard my trusty Bone-dingy when what to my wondering eyes should appear but Santa riding Nessy both shitfaced on beer. I couldn't honesly say who would have dealt the fatal blow (if you think Mel's gotta dark side you should see Santa roll). Pray you never bump into Father X-mas after a couple steins too many, go ahead, I'll wait.

But for a time luck was on my side. It seems Nessy had her hands full with 8 insanely jealous Reindeer, all of which diverted Santa's attention long enough for me to sneak behind him with my dingy paddle and put him down with Homerun swing to the back of his neck. I was just removing the last golden trinket of priceless North Pole bling from that fat bastards beard when the crisp air was split by the most unGodly screeching yowl you could ever imagine. Santa sat bolt upright, sober as Jesus, avalanches bunched at the bottom of nearly every slope and the lake itself began to flee. It was all I could do to will myself to look in the direction of the noise, but when I did my eyes were met by the most profound of all horrors - if you're guessing Star Jones, you only missed by a few pounds.

But Nay - staring strangely at the odd collection of prey presented before it's steaming maw like a life-size menu from Denny's - was the one and only - Bigfoot (or as the local Scots call the beast, Kenny). Sasquatch the foremost in feared and famous furry freaks of folklore to ever forrage the flora and filet the fauna with its fetid, frightful fangs from forests as far flung as Finland to Fresno. Fuckin A Fred Flinstone for a fact this frog had flopped from the frying pan into the fire and whether fact or fiction faithful friends - one of us un-fortunates would furnish the fictitious fiend with lunch.

Faith - a farcical fantasy, floundered to a flicker then flatlined. Fate the fundamental flaw in my future. F-words, all f-words - fee fi fo fucking fetch me from such a fix. I fumble for my fanny pack and finish my final fig newton (Why Newtons? What's a Newton) Farewell. Alas who could that be blazing through the arctic twilight like a comet in Flight. Yoshimi? Oh merciful heavens it is, Yoshimi, she won't let no sasquatch eat me. Yoshimi.

I really don't know what it means to be at war with the mystics, but I gave it my best. Sadly The Flaming Lips did not give mystics their best, but coming off Soft Bulletin and Yoshimi (two of the best records in the last decade) it was a battle they were destined to lose. I guess the most puzzling thing is how badly they do. Mystics doesn't even have a single track that I would call worthy of Wayne Coyne et. al. The first two tracks are just plain awful and throughout the rest of the record there are small glimmers of their good form, but even then they're merely plagiarizing themselves.

I'm not one to worry however - Flaming Lips can be likened in many ways to XTC, when they're on their game they are truly brilliant and few bands can hang with them, but when they miss the mark, they not only miss the target, but the board and stand to peg anyone who happens to be walking nearby. Flaming Lips needed to put out a debacle just as a pallette cleanser. When you make records on par with Bulletin and Yoshimi, you need to dramatically lower people's expectations, whether intentional or not, At War With the Mystics accomplishes this with aplomb.