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Whether on air or in the studio, Mogwai takes its time building instrumental momentum. For five and a half songs, guitar lines hover, dangle and linger; distant drums tap like knocks at a neighbor's door; vocals haunt and hide; and bass lines simmer like an idling engine. Suddenly, the guitars squawk like exotic birds under attack, catalyzing a chaotic climax. The album never again approaches that intensity, nor does it need to. Having bottled its concert-hall cacophony, Mogwai returns to rhythms that rise and fall with respiratory regularity.