Underneath Jay Reatard's punk posturing is an ace arranger. He's got an arsenal that well exceeds three chords, but he's too humble (or just too much of a punk) to flaunt it. Instead, he'll fake you out with hopped-up garage rock rhythms and punkish growls before taking on synth pop, Brit pop and noise pop. He'll pick an acoustic guitar, then retort with a stinging squeal of feedback; he'll get up in your face with scrappy one-liners ("I can't do it anymore!") then retreat back into a cave of paranoid drones ("Nothing Now"). It's a trick that'll have you both relating to him and revering him.