This is the sound of aging hippies who never gave up the fight. It's possible to admire their steadfast adherence to principles, but overly earnest lyrics and awkward attempts at hip references (ninjas? Really?) combine with leaden arrangements for poor results. Musically, the Poets draw on lots of folk and a little bit of pop and jazz. Some of the gypsy violins and bits of the electric piano shine in isolation, and there are a few atypical moments that manage to be mildly gratifying — "Tender" is actually nice, and "I Don't Know Birds" is passable. Apart from that, the songs vary between bewilderingly stupid and profoundly grating, with the occasional embarrassing spoken-word foray. This is one call I'll definitely be ignoring.