The Dancing Box, in fact, isn't about jacking at all. Cotton is obsessed with rhythmic mismatches, and he reaches mania on "We Still Expect Freedom," where everything slips out of sync, trainwrecking and ruining the party. At least the beat's detectable; "That's How I Like It (Illusions)" is so caked in atmosphere that the (four-on-the) floor is covered in it. Arresting, but often annoying, Cotton's songs generally loop longer than they should, with hiss and contrived lo-fidelity that's meant to sound ugly, not nostalgic. The Dancing Box, then, is really just tracked-up sadomasochism with nowhere to dance.