A good way to judge a Chemical Brothers album is via the ego-inflation factor. If you’re feeling like Al Capone with a fat bank roll and a baseball bat, the Brothers are achieving the desired effect, conversely, if you feel like you’re shopping for designer footwear, things have veered horribly off-course. Three home runs to start the record, and then the credit cards come fumbling out. But we are still 5 for 7, with one neutral by the time we get through Denmark. Pioneer skies is nice as a test track for a new synth, but it doesn’t get you off the ground, and then Richard Ashcroft rambles in to do a Simple Minds sounding pop song. 5 for 9 as far as the block rockin’ you really need. ‘Sup bros?