Behind the camera, David Lynch trades in bad vibes and paper-dry humor. His numbing first solo album, co-written with producer Dean Hurley, leisurely indulges the former with none of the latter unless you count the ocassional use of Vocoder. Which actually serves another purpose: To lend Lynch's awful voice — which ranges from bizarre falsetto ("Crazy Clown Time") to backwoods-accented croak ("So Glad"), with one zonked-out, F-bomb-laden monologue thrown in ("Speed Roadster") — a little texture. (He enlists Karen O for the breathy "Pinky's Dream", a highlight.) Lynch, a man of minor obsessions, here explores just one — quavery, Fifties-style guitar. The result's long on atmosphere and short on anything approaching mystery.
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