Swim Slowly Records PO Box 33321 San Diego, CA 92163 858.232.6453 General Info: land at swimslowly dot com Booking: booking at swimslowly dot com

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Punk Planet (Amy Adoyzie, Issue 62)
A hypnotic two-disc record that will score your twisted nightmares and fanciful dreams. "On Vacation Part One" is straight historicore, like the Decemberists in theory, except TRAM is much more content with a historical fantasy scene involving Jesus, Hitler and some mad tongue action ("Jesus and Hitler"). If Tim Burton ever made a film about WWII, this would be the lurking soundtrack subtly revealing the lives of marionette puppets imprisoned in a concentration camp. The line, "It's my world, even if I'm insane" from "Crispy Christian Tea Time" best captures this first disk. "Part Two" is equally enjoyable in a more contemporary fashion, with mellow pop ballads about running away to nostalgia. Ryland Bouchard sings "lets hold hands when we take off today / I think I miss the way we used to be" so sweetly, you can feel his arms wrapped around you. It's that dang good. (AA)

Fahrenheit (Adam Gnade, Issue 51)
Typo's Ahoy! The Robot Ate Me will Punch Your Brain in the Throat and Take Your Candy
THIS IS GONNA SUCK. I had planned to write this thing earlier, but life took over and now I’m red-eyed, half-falling asleep, teeth covered in muck coffee film, and it’s not even 5pm. The ideas I had! Absurd shit, the way I’d explain the record, real in-depth, but anchored nowhere near Earthbound reality and riffing out into space like a laser beam clearing out asteroids, a probe ship set to vaporize all and take names later—Prime Directive and objectivity be damned. But you take what life hands you, so here goes—the two minute hyper spazz typing version of the well-structured essay formerly known as "Why the Robot Ate Me Hits You Like the Quietest Freight Train Ever." Initial thoughts on the Robot Ate Me’s new double album, On Vacation: Any record with lyrics about Jesus and Hitler making out in the backseat of a is bound to throw some sweet curves your way. Curve one: is this a singer singing along to old scratchy records or is the band making this music? Song one, "The Genocide Ball," opens with a fuzzy swell of waltz ballroom strings and lyrics about having ringside seats to genocide and betting on which country will kill itself off quicker. Will it be South Africa? Jordan? It’s the ugliest, most interestingly fucked up lyrics to come out of the lower 619—Hillcrest to be specific, right down the way from our office, recorded at what’s called the "Pink House" by people that like to name their houses. It’s creep-show stuff, spicy political jabs, gallows humor set to quieter-than-the-vocals, almost hushed swinging jazz. Up next "Jesus and Hitler" has the same old record warmth and starts with the lyrics, "So Jesus and Hitler were in the backseat trying to make out/their tongues were twisted and tied around their mouths." Voodoo-y African percussion floats in, always unobtrusive, while electronics begin to sneak under the door like house-fire smoke, with bumps of bass and subtle bleats of laptop fuckery. Then things get weird—which is a big statement after hearing the first two songs. Kitchen pots clanging together jar over what sounds like backward tape swirls, some odd keyboard burps and then it goes clean into violin and the singer singing, "why don’t you join the Republican Army/I need a break from you and this world," and suddenly it all makes sense. It’s a West Coast Tim Kinsella! WTF! Genius! Of course! It’s like a Gap-era Tim Kinsella and his Joan of Arc collaging and pasting together campy, carnival gypsy jazz with IDM. Nothing ever stays what it is—it’s a constant flux of herking noise, samples of brassy, flamboyant march songs. And the goddamn lyrics, holy fuck. Shit gets darker as you move on in. Evil stuff. Nasty satire. "All the human Africans are statistics/doesn’t really matter if they die/Got this career to salvage and the press on my side" and "Sometimes we play crispy Christian tea time with Barbie." Do you hate it? Are you laughing? Are you offended? Is it dumb? Brilliant? Cute? Critical judgmental lines blur until your psyche turns to hot, molten doodoo. But the weirdest part yet, the weirdest thing you’ll come across in this double record set, is that the second album is totally normal—though normal might not be the best word. After part one, it’s well mannered, tight, a good solid pop record, a direct polarity to the tiki room peyote jag of part one. But why? Why drop a record showing yourself with separate—but equally good—identities? Are they pulling a 'Dre/Big Boi trip? It is totally temporal as to what they were down with at the moment? Are they indecisive? Reaching identity crisis? Or are they stuck somewhere between growing up and freaking the fuck out? Maybe it's just because I'm tired but questions like that bore me—no way Jose. Let’s leave the dorkery to the real rock critics. I’d rather enjoy this for what it is—pure creative barfing and a manic sense of the unpredictable. I’m too wrecked to read further into this, but On Vacation feels and sounds good over headphones and in my brain which is more a jumbled craphole of bad-wired nerves and fizzing out synapses right now. But there’s no sleep now, and there probably won’t be much rest by the time this band plays Gelato on Saturday. Still, I’ll be there front and center, tapping my fuckin' feet on their upstairs floorboards and spilling my stupid coffee, because this is the sort of music that makes me believe in people, the kind of inspired rot which makes the world not seem so damn plastic. It’s not even music outside the margins—here the margins were never there, and if they were to encroach, The Robot Ate Me would probably up and croak.

Pitchforkmedia (Nick Sylvester, Spring 04)
The band's 2002 debut, They Ate Themselves, was nothing if not promising: The Robot Ate Me consists of three clearly intelligent musicians, and as that disc showed, when they take the extra time to structure their good ideas and censor their bad ones, their music comes out creative, compelling and often stunningly catchy...Maybe there's a point to On Vacation's disparity, or some subtle concept behind it that has to this very sentence remained elusive. But if there isn't one, The Robot Ate Me should feel free to skip the noise and cut straight to their songs next time-- when they want to be, they're actually quite good. (see one of the reviews below for the subtle concept behind On Vacation...)

Skyscraper (Matt Fink, Issue 16, Spring 04)
Although with only one previous full length to their credit - they've hardly been around long enough to be at the "double-album" phase of their career - The Robot Ate Me have yet to hold on to convention and show no signs of starting now. Taking a step away from the off-kilter psychedelic pop of their debut, this limited to five-thousand copies release is a bizarre holocaust-haunted concept album, blending Christianity, Nazi propaganda and cloying Americana into a frightfully surreal mix. The brainchild of songwriter/multi-instrumental/crypto-poet Ryland Bouchard, On Vacation is really the story of two albums, the first heavy with harrowing imagery set in a murky and amorphous din, the other laden with almost derisively romantic and carefree sentiments draped in far more crisp and organic textures. To that extent, it can be hard to trace an explicit uniting thread running through both halves, but that ends up being part of the release's appeal, as no matter how disparate they seem superficially, the dichotomous balance they provide seems right. If anything, this release is almost preternaturally consumed with providing a sick juxtaposition , with self-explaining tracks like "The Genocide Ball" pairing grotesque sentiments with frilly big band backing and the prancing carnival nightmare of "Oh No! Oh My! (1994)" giving every impression that Bouchard is simply singing over an old vinyl acetate. Somewhere between propaganda sloganeering and children's music gloss, the arrangements allow Bouchard's innocently unimposing vocals (think Wayne Coyne with a little Thom Yorke-ish paranoia) to become the perfect naive narrator for these songs of suffocating sacrilege and ghastly intent. Still, no matter how immediately arresting the constantly evolving imagery is, the queasy strings and chirping clarinet - all of which are encased in a layer of groaning and swirling lo-fi fuzz - create in the songs a surreal distance that nearly renders them unpalatable as pop songs. Adding to the oddly balanced aesthetic, the second disc features mostly love songs tipped with a nearly imperceptible sense of foreboding, with scenes of domesticity and fidelity anchoring a sturdier set of melodies and hook-oriented arrangements. Here, the ethic comes close to intercepting with that of their first release, They Ate Themselves, with synths and acoustic guitars running underneath bubbling clap-a-longs and drowsy psych-pop anthems. Put both halves of the album together, and they bring the concept full circle, a point that is echoed by the vibrantly (and viscerally) illustrated booklet that accompanies the disc. All in all, On Vacation is the rare album that succeeds more in concept than in content, yet still counts as a genuine triumph in both execution and vision.

TinyMixTapes (MrP, Feb 04)
rating: 5/5
Ever since the fight against Communism was "won" by the "free market," religion has been on the rise. President Bush supposedly reads the Bible everyday, the neo-conservatives (a.k.a. Leo Strauss' pets) are reading books on Plato and Aristotle, anti-Semitism is increasing at a significant rate, and battles over sacred texts are still being fought. Just recently, the Georgia school system tried to change the term "evolution" to "biological changes over time," in an attempt to undercut science. In short, religion has become inextricable from contemporary politics. Yet these topics remain largely ignored by the rock community. With On Vacation, The Robot Ate Me has written a double disc masterpiece that pushes these heavy topics to the fore. Unlike Lennon's approach to religion and politics (see "Imagine"), the approach here is more playful and commentary rather than optimistic and revolutionary. Hell, there's even a song about Jesus and Hitler making out in the backseat of a car. The first disc deals with these topics explicitly, but in a generalized fashion. From songs like "The Genocide Ball" and "The Republican Army" to "Crispy Christian Tea Time" and "You Don't Fill Me Up the Same," Robot Ate Me begs us to contemplate the roles that religion, politics, consumerism, and the media play in Western society, and how is it that most people are still so apathetic. Most of the disc is made up of samples of old records that make it sound like it was recorded in the mid-20th Century, providing a Lynch-like contrast to the eerie but playful lyrics. It's the type of music that procures a nostalgic pining for the 1930s, when things were "better," yet the lyrics remind the listener that it was the decade of the Great Depression that ended only after the U.S. entered WWII. The second disc is a bit more ambiguous. Judging purely by the music, you might think this is typical pop rock. This is further emphasized with Ryland Bouchard's carefree vocal delivery that deals with such inane topics as watermelons, apricot tea, and red-haired girls. But underneath the white-washed exterior, it becomes apparent that this disc is sarcasm at its best. And not in an annoying way. Instead, Robot Ate Me sounds maybe too convincing, attempting to balance the escapist undertones with genuine songwriting. It really wouldn't be so affective, though, if the music wasn't so damn amazing. It's music you can bounce to and feel sardonic to at the same time. "The Tourist" is probably one of the best combinations of harmonies and hand claps that I've ever heard. In a music world based on press releases and advertising, it's sad to think of how many people will miss out on this amazing album. What's more is that each copy is hand-made (in a beautiful Rauschenberg-like art book), numbered, and released through Ryland's Swim Slowly label. Without actually eating dinner with the band members, this is about as personal as you can get. The unfortunate part is that it won't quite get the distribution it deserves. We need to change that. But I'm only one person! What can I do as an individual? How can I become involved? Go to Swim Slowly's website, their official website, or even Insound and buy a copy of this album. Although this isn't Politics & Religion 101, it's certainly one of the best pop albums I've heard in years. Period.

Babysue (LMNOP, Feb 04)
You have to listen to a few thousand new bands each and every year...to realize just how boring most of them are (!). But on a positive note, all the generic uninteresting artists do serve a purpose...they make you really appreciate the good ones when they come along. The Robot Ate Me is an obtuse underground band that instantly stands out from the pack. The songs are almost completely out of touch with everything else currently happening in music...and what a refreshing change that is indeed. On Vacation is a brilliant two CD set enclosed in a beautifully crafted (and individually-numbered) handmade booklet. The Robot Ate Me is Ryland Bouchard along with David Greenberg (drums, percussion) and Jay Hoffmann (bass, violin). Bouchard's tunes sound something like Broadway musical tunes from the 1930s or 1940s...infused with all kinds of bizarre electronics, odd sounds, and treatments. The tunes sound simultaneously old and new...drawing inspiration from a wild variety of sources...all the while retaining a cohesive overall vibe. Possible modern influences might include The Eels, The Residents, Sparklehorse, Radial Spangle, and The Flaming Lips. Possible older influences could include everyone from Peggy Lee to Robert Wyatt to Ray Davies to Neil Young. But in all truthfulness, The Robot Ate Me tunes are their own pure entity...borrowing ideas and sounds from others...while retaining a distinct originality and uniqueness that is overwhelmingly appealing and fantastic. Bouchard's vocals are fragile and subdued...as are the atmospheric electronics that curdle his vocals. Each disc was recorded in a different location...presenting a combined total of seventeen tunes. The first disc is very moody and obtuse...while the second disc is more accessible and considerably less peculiar. This is a great package that should be grabbed up quickly...only 5,000 copies produced. On Vacation is a wonderful little trip...highly recommended...unique, refreshing...and REAL. (Rating: 5+++)

Splendid (Dave Madden, Feb 04)
If you take anything from this review, even if you never pick up this album, it should be the following lyric: "So Jesus and Hitler were in the backseat, trying to make out / their tongues were twisted and tied around their mouths." Actually, that strange dichotomy serves as a blueprint for this double disc from Robot Ate Me mad hatter Ryland Bouchard. On Vacation is the marriage of sweet and acrid, good and evil, Barbie and Spawn and any other ironic pairings that make total sense. The disc is split into two sections (conveniently divided between two discs): puzzling and organic. Part one is a mixture of samples and live instruments, portrayed as if you were listening to a World War I era radio broadcast while taking refuge in a bomb shelter. It is the soundtrack of a politician, finger on the button, living in a cave like some megalomaniacal Howard Hughes type. "Genocide Ball" layers decrepit big-band 78s and crowd cheers beneath Bouchard's breathy whisper: "Come put your shoes on, let's go out tonight / there's a Genocide Ball to attend." The irony is certainly not missed, as you can imagine that the masses that enjoyed the original sample were probably knee-deep in a depression, laughing to stave off their tears. You can almost hear our protagonist shaking his finger in the air while he dances a foxtrot. "Jesus and Hitler" continues in the same vein, displaying the same eerie backdrop under Japanese koto, an occasional bass synth and the aforementioned lyrics. "Crispy Christian Tea Time"... Imagine the excitement of seeing the ice cream man driving down your block, and getting your beloved orange-dream bar, only to find a rat's tail after eating half of it. The kitschy '50s radio jingle music and sugar sweet melody almost offsets Bouchard's lyrics ("and if you don't like my games, you should definitely just run away because otherwise you'll burn in flames / it's my world even if I'm insane."). And then suddenly, as the discs change, we're transported away from death and despair, and find ourselves living it up on a tropical island. Part two follows The Robot Ate Me's 2002 release, They Ate Themselves in its choice of ensemble. It demonstrates a quest for fractured sounds and ideas created by acoustic instruments, dysfunctional engineering choices and journal-style lyrics...The "band" incorporates parade-march rhythms, violin, accordion, banjo (the island of misfit instruments?) and acid squelches with this text to create a complete departure from the previous disc's sound; the only thing that ties them together is Bouchard's voice -- it never changes much as far as register or timbre are concerned, but that element is never annoying. "Oh No Oh My!" takes an otherwise standard guitar/vox ballad and flips it, reverses it and puts it in the style of Robot Ate Me... Enough. It is impossible to understand a Robot Ate Me album from a written description. The band says that "the songs tend to speak for themselves", and I couldn't agree more.

skyscraper (Matt Fink, December 03)
Quite possibly the year's most arresting experimental pop record, They Ate Themselves is a dizzyingly vibrant trip through death and multi-layered dissonance. His voice, aching with vulnerable humanity and almost uncomfortably high in the mix, vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Ryland Bouchard is a dominating presence, his arresting verse lighting on the more literate side of The Microphones' Phil Elvrum's allegorical nature experimentations. To that extent, fire, ice, the moon, and any number of bodily references make clear that Bouchard is firmly posited on the edge of personal human experience. The songs themselves are no less exceptional, finding an odd halfway point between the aforementioned Microphones' avant-folk and The Flaming Lips' multiple passages and soaking up an eerie stillness. Largely founded on roughly strummed (and occasionally gorgeously picked) acoustic guitar, squawky accordion, toy piano, fuzz synths and the odd power tool, the multi-layered aesthetic perfectly matches the intensely visceral, death-consumed nightmare lullabies. All in all, it's and endlessly imaginative and slightly frightening album that aspires to the highest standards of experimental pop.

whatzup (Greg Locke, October 03)
...They Ate Themselves is a extraordinary accomplishment bearing in mind it marks the debut of The Robot Ate Me. Themselves was first released in the concluding seconds of 2002 and hit with the impact of soy milk at a frat party; months afterward the album was given a somewhat expanded, proper release and is now obtainable for the world to chaw over. Watch out though, this concept album ponders the same reaction as soy milk: "why?". Would vegans care if two hunks of metal ate each other in a non-altruistic fashion? Those vegans can be pretty serious. Themselves is an oddly focused album which also embodies playful experimentation and the seriousness of Jack Kerouac's On the Road. Ryland Bouchard leads his robot outfit through 17 oddball, scatterbrained tracks describing a world beaten by the powers of its own self-destructing technology; nothing too new there. Themselves openly takes ideas from the all too influential OK Computer but uses the same concepts in a playful, less frightened fashion. Initial listens may trick you into thinking that TRAM are taking themselves very seriously. Eventually you realize that those are accordion solos, and "my eyes were nothing when they closed" TRAM isn't scared nor serious; they exteriorize satire in order to paint their picture of their anticipated future's unavoidable turmoil...Themselves is the kind of album that is hardly describable; its musical backdrops - some of which work and some of which don't - are likely the most unique to materialize this year. If you are a fan of ambitious rock that still manages to be accessible, pick up their debut. With a debut as strong as Themselves, TRAM are on their way towards making an impact. Hold your breath for these guys.

Best Alternative Album - Nomination, San Diego Music Awards (September 03).

Sponic Zine (Matthew Hickey, September 03)
They Ate Themselves may be one of the most aptly named albums in recent history, since most of the songs seemingly consume and devour themselves and each other, forming this truly awesome freshman album by San Diego quartet The Robot Ate Me. Led by Ryland Bouchard, The Robot Ate Me sounds like an introspective and otherworldly mix of Grandaddy and Neutral Milk Hotel, with a dash of The Flaming Lips. The Robot Ate Me manages to make walking the line between experimentation and pop seem easy. In fact, despite the seeming implausibility, they manage to make an otherwise tragic song about digging through piles of dead bodies sound beautiful and intimate on “Everyone Was Still.” It is the juxtaposition of innocence, intimacy and humor within the confines of intricate, dark songs about death and pain that truly define The Robot Ate Me’s style. They Ate Themselves is a sophisticated album that grows on you with each listen. I find the whole of the album so enjoyable that it has defied my attempts to mention actual tracks as highlights. In fact, They Ate Themselves is a remarkable whole. I can almost guarantee this will make my list of the top ten for 2003. I suggest going to www.therobotateme.com to purchase the album if you have as much difficulty finding a copy in your local record shop as I did.

Stuff (September 03)
Rating: Bots! The skinny: Sound effects and crazy-ass instruments (i.e., power saws, harmonicas) are the code of the day for the Robot Ate Me. They weave sparse horns, children’s toys and tribal drumbeats into the music, yet the songs are guitar-driven and folksy, giving the album a scattered, random feel. They Ate Themselves strolls between ambient movie soundtrack and crooning love song. We, on the other hand, stroll between suicidal depression and suicidal delightedness. If you liked this album, you’d like: His Name Is Alive, the Flaming Lips, Sparklehorse, Radiohead, Neutral Milk Hotel, Robot Wars. Who else likes this album? Those guys who scour Kay Bee Toys for “subversive” instruments ’cause they sound “amazing”; guys who hate guys who use the word dude. What does Stephen Hawking think of this? The funny thing is, due to my electronic voice machine, people have sometimes accused me of eating a robot. Do you know where Stephen Hawking was born? England! (You wouldn’t know it by his accent.) Tantalizing tidbits: Robots are people, too. Electronic people.

Babysue (LMNOP, August 03)
A unusual band...and an unusual album. Although it may take many spins to get into, They Ate Themselves is a powerful body of work well worth the time and energy. More than any other band, San Diego's The Robot Ate Me is coming from the same general direction as Radial Spangle (one of the most underappreciated yet incredible bands of the 1990s). The tunes on this album are anything but obvious. Rather than slamming out samey hooks and punching the listener in the face with familiar sounds...these guys instead opt to create perplexing and confusing compositions that arouse the curiosity of their listeners. The track "What We Thought Was Fog" has to be heard to be believed. It is a peculiar yet gripping piece with strange emotion that cannot be defined. In addition to intriguing and mind-numbing melodies...this band gets major bonus points for their lyrics. Instead of the same old generic dribble that most bands pass off for lyrics...these guys come up with funny and perplexing words that are as entertaining as they are thought provoking. Despite the overwhelming number of albums coming out every week...on this planet, creativity still remains rare. It is difficult to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes The Robot Ate Me so appealing...but they most definitely are a hearty and meaty treat for the mind and ears. Highly recommended. (Rating: 5+++)

Tangmonkey (Sean Michaels, July 03)
Three words? Strange surprise success! The 90s brought us lofi - proof positive that kids in their bedrooms could record music as vital and refreshing as the best of the majors. With the 00s, something new has become clear - ProTools makes every studio Abbey Road, and suddenly the indie kids can not only record good music: they can make it sound as good as their major label counterparts. The Robot Ate Me is the missing link between Lou Barlow and the Flaming Lips, and They Ate Themselves is a dusty, confident debut; psychpop with violin, accordion, harmonica and saw. Despite their unfortunate name, The Robot Ate Me demonstrate equal flair for schizoid Elephant 6 jams ("Sugar & My Rotted Teeth") and poignant Sparklehorse lovesongs ("You Smile"). Flashes of Okkervil River and Neutral Milk Hotel appear on "Everyone Was Still," while Ryland Bouchard channels The Eels' E on "You Died." There are influences are too many to number, and ultimately there is a scrapbook feel to these seventeen songs... but the record is far too much fun - and too colourful an adventure - to let that overwhelm things.

Pitchforkmedia (Julianne Shepherd, May 03, Rating 8.2)
If Phil Elvrum and Jeff Mangum were drowning together in the wide-open sea, They Ate Themselves might be their last will and testament. This is not to say that I want Phil Elvrum or Jeff Mangum to drown, because I am quite a fan of both of their musics (The Microphones and Neutral Milk Hotel, respectively) and, in addition, I’m sure they’re all probably very nice fellows. But everyone dies. And everyone deserves to have some kind of funeral. San Diego quartet The Robot Ate Me just dumps all the gloopy maudlin parts of those two bands into a blissful death-knell, both metaphorically and literally.

Literally? M’fucka? Yes, literally. While The Robot Ate Me’s actual music is quilted with an ethereal mélange of electronic beats, accordion, synths, saxophone, violin, harmonica, bongos, and the gripping, emotive flurry of a power saw-- they’re not predisposed to all that fanciful “Ooh, butterflies! Let’s skip in the forest!” shite that summarily ignores the last, oh, 100 years of humanity, which teaches us The World Can Be Nasty and Devastate Us in All Sorts of Ways We Never Thought Possible. No, The Robot Ate Me gazes wide-eyed in the face of the beast, writing songs about murder (“I Almost Died”), massive supernatural death epidemics (“Everyone Was Still”), break-ups (almost every track), and an auto-cannibalistic response to emotional pain (“They Ate Themselves”, “We Ate Each Other”). But through the ephemeral twinkling glimmer of their experimental pop music, they tuck it into a big fluffy bed of whispering guitars and woozy, rickety instrumentation based on the Elvrum aesthetic of “let’s make it sound however it sounds.” The result is equally depressing and comforting, and mired in otherworldly realness ...With the reliability of a life cycle, They Ate Themselves builds and breaks, illuminating the beauty in tragedy while bringing to light the inevitability of croaking. Death really hasn’t sounded so pretty.
*the above review has since been removed and replaced with a different more trendy review that lies about us. we aren't sure why they want to be mean.

Portland Mercury (Michael Alan Goldberg, May 03)
..On They Ate Themselves, the debut album from the San Diego quartet The Robot Ate Me, frontman Ryland Bouchard displays skilled mitts capable of transferring despair into music that's genuine and grippingly gorgeous. Imparting a grievous voice that quavers like a new widower kept awake in the wee hours by the devastating emptiness of his bed, Bouchard pilots the San Diego quartet, which also includes bassist RJ Hoffman, drummer David Greenberg, and multi-instrumentalist William Haworth, through songs rife with despondent, moribund imagery...Yes, these guys are emotional eaters, but it's TRAM's unorthodox and oddly uplifting experi-bedroom-pop constructions--ones you might find on a Neutral Milk Hotel or Flaming Lips release--that keep the group from getting too bogged down in the mope-mire. Accordion, toy pianos, typewriters, and power tools commingle with guitars and drums for a nuanced sound that embraces the innocence and playfulness of a child even as it confronts the bleak realities of adulthood.

Exclaim (Helen Spitzer, May 03)
It’s a fitting title for this otherworldly debut, as much of the record is engaged in the process of slowly devouring itself. Songs frequently stop just as they gain momentum, are reoriented, and then thrown in another direction. Instrumentation is lavish, rife with wheezing, whistles, and elastic synthesizer and guitar textures. The songs themselves are melodic, recognizable as bedroom-rock with experimental leanings: kind of like Jim Guthrie channelling Neutral Milk Hotel, but underwater. What sounds like a string section being strangled collides with chattering typewriter keys; gorgeous subtle accordion takes flight and then melts into frenetic drumming and a power-saw solo. It’s all very deliberate and inspired – the writing itself so strange and lovely that it immediately pulls you under, with frequent references to decay and dying...The second half of the album is increasingly abstract, and infinitely more interesting – like a film score to a nightmare, but the kind you marvel at because of its beautiful strangeness. The Robot Ate Me is an engaging, frequently puzzling and wholly rewarding listen. Best taken before bedtime, while sleepy, medicated or just bewildered.

Tiny Mix Tapes (Jake Brahm, May 03, Rating 8.2)
...With high hopes that only Godspeed You! Black Emperor could preach about, I ordered the record off of the bands website, practically the only place you can get it, and thus fell into the three to five day waiting period that comes with all mail order records I get hyped about. Of course the impending doom of a let down was always on my mind as it always is when I have such high hopes for a record. I had been let down before and I didn't want to cry myself to sleep at night again with another let down of a mail order. That's how much I had riding on The Robots Ate Me. So when the album came and I threw their compact disc into my compact disc player, I let out the worlds largest sigh of relief and then coupled it with brilliant cry: YES! IT IS THAT FUCKING GOOD!

They Ate Themselves, that's the clever title of the album, lives up to all of the hype and then progresses to blow even further mind out of my head. Lo-fi Kid A it is not, but lo-fi it is nonetheless, with its somewhat rusty and full, distant sounding instruments. And oh how so many instruments there are! The magnificent composition is only taken to the next level with the plethora of musical devices this band throws into the mix. The instrument body includes everything from saxophone to accordion to random toy instruments, along with the obvious guitar/bass/drum skeleton.

The music itself is dark but only about mid-twilight dark, sort of sad, but understanding at the same time. This feel is further supported with the raspy crooning of the lead singer as he lets out line after line of death and war and destruction and things of the like...This album is honestly hard to explain as it is so truly original that it has to stand on its own. Please ignore all of the Kid A mumbo-jumbo, this album is much more genuine than anything Radiohead could ever try to pull. I truly can't wait to see what The Robot Ate Me comes out with next. "Good night / please don't kill me."

Pataphysics (Jack Cole, May 03)
Released at the very end of 2002 by Swim Slowly, you'd almost be forgiven for letting The Robot Ate Itself slide past your radar. Centered around the songwriting and vocals of Ryland Bouchard, the band deceptively swirls together a whistful collection of bittersweet low key pop songs embellished with an array of instruments ranging from power tools and toys to guitars and synths. Though the music itself may be delicate, fragile guitar-centered melodies adrift over atonal synth note clusters and droning accordions or whatever else they might implement, the lyrics themselves focus on violent imagery ranging from cut off hands and cut puppet strings. At the same time Rylant Bouchard, accompanied by William Haworth and RJ Hoffman, also mixes into his songs a keen dark wit, undercutting his earnest vocals. All of this folded together creates an album amazing in the beauty it creates fusing pop with experimental methods that never sink the songs themselves. The Robot Ate Me certainly should be proud of what they have accomplished with their first album, sending forth to the world a remarkable work that reconfirms that music with emotional depth in the right hands doesn't has to be embarrassingly earnest, sloppy or mindless. A lot of heart, a bit of brains and a sense of humor will always be a potent combination, especially when they add up to The Robot Ate Itself.

Spork (Jake, April 03)
"It is releases like this one that really makes me glad that I get to write CD reviews. I get a fair amount of CDs of stuff I already know and like, but there's something imminently more exciting when you get a CD by a band you've never heard of and it actually turns out to be pretty good. Or in the case of The Robot Ate Me (TRAM), it turns out to not just be good, but amazing...For a debut album, this release is nearly perfect. Most veteran bands can't even come close to this kind of originality and inventiveness, so it's especially impressive that it came out of a bunch of Southern Californians in their early 20s. There's no doubt the talent is here -- it's just a matter of whether or not people actually get a chance to hear it."

Splendid (Dave Madden, March 03)
"Other than the fact that the album was probably recorded straight to hard-disc, neither the band nor their record has anything to do with robots. They do, however, have everything to do with 22 year old songwriter Ryland Bouchard and his friends. If you know them, They Ate Themselves will finally explain why you didn't see them for several months last year: they've been holed up in a studio, purging their souls onto tape to bring you this gorgeously crafted musical diary... These songs are artsy, eclectic and about as unusual as you could expect from a rock-style band. However, the musical elements mesh gracefully, and, despite the sonic juxtapositions, everything wraps up in a neat organic brew...Violins, toy pianos, moogs, trumpets and power saws all live in this world, but rather than use a kitchen-sink approach, The Robot Ate Me have pieced everything together in a tasteful manner, orchestrated around the point of focus: Bouchard's manic-depressive and introspective vocals. Thom Yorke would be an easy, lazy comparison, but that's only due to Bouchard's whispered falsetto and penchant for heart-on-the-sleeve vocals. He exhibits traces of Wayne Coyne's eccentricity, Neil Young's reticence Johnny Cash's old-school lyrical honesty. Digging into this music is not easy going: if you're even slightly sensitive, these songs will have you curled into ball on the floor under the kitchen table. They Ate Themselves is as manic-depressive, as introspective and every bit as engaging (and as damn good) as a Kid A or a Dark Side of the Moon; it might take you down that grey, foggy, soul-searching path, but you'd be foolish to miss the journey."

Hand Carved Magazine (March 03)
"To hear The Robot Ate Me, you might guess that San Diego was one of the rainiest cities in North America. Well-crafted, insular chamber pop like this always seems to be the brainchild of artists living in the British Isles, the Pacific Northwest, or other locales that offer many opportunities to wake up on rainy day and put on a Nick Drake record real, real low. With "They Ate Themselves," The Robot Ate Me make an admirable soundtrack for self-reflection on a cold autumn’s day. Whereas other artists trafficking in similar production values (Wilco, Badly Drawn Boy, Sparklehorse) make their point through contrasts between heavily orchestrated soundscapes and muted, funerary laments, The Robot Ate Me draws little distinction between the two. Twenty-two year old San Diegan Ryland Bouchard may sing with breathless melancholy, but the songs conjure images of an accomplished rock band / Philip Glass junk orchestra trying not to wake the baby in the next room. The album opener, “Our Bones Were Chalk,” runs from airy, tribal rhythms and spooky, back-mastered guitar to plaintiff chamber pop, before winding up somewhere deep on the second side of Radiohead's "Kid A" — not bad for less than three minutes of music. On “Everyone was Still,” perhaps the most endearing song ever written about sifting through dead bodies, Bouchard manages a playful sheen that represents well the general emotional tension of the album. Despite the obvious references, They Ate Themselves is neither pastiche nor slavish reinterpretation of genre standards. It, like all good art, expresses new ideas with reverence for those from which it drew its inspiration."

Modern Fix (March 03)
"If there's one thing this band wants you to get from this record it is to live. Live, because you only get one chance. The Robot Ate Me has ideas that make me reflect on myself which is pretty fucking cool if you ask me. Musically expect a fairly artsy ensemble (and I mean ensemble) that you might have trouble with the first time. But as you make more attempts at giving this a try it will really pay off. It's sort of cool to hear a band's out of this world ideas be somewhat similar to Modest Mouse. This one could easily be difficult for even a true Modest Mouse fan though because the broken thoughts can often be misinterpreted as incomplete. Highly recommended."

San Diego City Beat (Alyssa Matthews, Feb 03)
"Bands like Ugly Casanova have deconstructed Beck—taking the junk orchestra of funk and inserting space and decelerating where Beck would have smoked the joint. San Diego’s The Robot Ate Me continues the tradition, imagining what might happen if Pedro the Lion used every instrument in the room: guitar, accordion, synth, piano, drums, bongos, harmonica, power saw, bass, violin and frail vocals... The Robot Ate Me is not a linear experience. They’re more subdued than Casanova and less concerned with whether or not tempo changes or melodic shifts run A-B-C. A creepy, fake Eastern ambiance with bells may give way to loping, irregular circus with synth beats. But Bouchard’s vocals, sung with a hands-in-the-pockets intellectual tenderness, maintain the requisite string of pretty melody that holds their junk orchestra together quite nicely."

Almostcool.org (Aaron Coleman, Jan 03)
"Slightly more stripped down than work by different Elephant 6 artists, this will no doubt appeal to certain fans of that collective, as well as those who can imagine a somewhat lo-fi Radiohead. Fun at times and introspective at others, the surreal lyrics seem to focus on death quite a bit for such music, but it's that juxtaposition that makes it work so well."

Highly Recommended by Insound.com (Jan 03).