And so we come to last call at the House of GBV, and it's hard not to get a bit misty. For whatever indifference or disappointment greeted anything he'd made since Under the Bushes, over the years Bob Pollard had become a bit like the Dude -- we took comfort in knowing that he was out there, the drunk, doing a high-kick for all us sinners. So it's tempting to let GBV's final record take a back seat to the Concept of "GBV's Final Record" -- which, in some ways, is OK. There's nothing that separates Decomposed too drastically from the last several GBV outings. Pollard dutifully sprinkles a few mind-blowing pop songs ("The Closets of Henry") amidst a bunch of barely adequate ones. While this album is unlikely to gain the group any 11th-hour fans, it provides just enough to remind the rest of us what we'll be missing three years from now.
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