Shout, shout. Let a fart out. Though this album doesn't smell like grandma's bathroom, it does sound like she's saying gentle goodbye to brown after her Metamucil supplement. The power of the saxophone is wide ranging, and it affects people differently. Generally when I hear it, I have the urge to punch it in the face, but hey, this is the music of the 80's and people did things differently back then. We have to accept it and learn from mistakes of the past. Aside from the tender ooze of that wretched instrument, I found the album to be out of place, not fitting in any singular world. I hated the bulk of it, but I really loved the smaller bits which more than made up for the forgettable stuff. You just can't throw the baby out with the bathwater anymore... ask grandma.