Hot on the heels of clattering and aggressive Meat, Workman’s second release of the year is filled with sounds that might be made at an unholy orgy of Sisters of Mercy, Wang Chung and Foreigner, with attendant swears. I think Workman wants us to believe his life is one long Bret Easton Ellis novel, making Meat and Milk the aural equivalent of a 1980s coke-addled breakdown. Maybe it’s just a new, fascinating chapter from one of Canada’s most talented and frustrating performers, but it’s hard to imagine anyone who got on this train with For Me and the Girls is still on board. Fans of Beck, or maybe The Killers, will be rewarded by the slices of poppy electronica.
This article appears in Sep 30 – Oct 6, 2010.