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       Complaining about this album being an obvious photocopy of its influences 
        is a bit like cursing the sky for being blue. Reworking past inspirations 
        into something else has always been the raison d'être of Bobby Gillespie 
        and company, after all. But that said, there's no question that Sonic 
        Flower Groove is one goofy headscratcher of a release, the sound of a 
        band that didn't quite know exactly what to do yet trying to record a 
        big-budget (of sorts) debut album and ending up with little more than 
        a pristine but dull photocopy of Turn! Turn! Turn! While not intrinsically 
        horrible, it's not intrinsically much of anything else either, and certainly 
        in light of everything the band did in the following years, it's the most 
        wistful, fragile, and ultimately boring of its releases. The Byrds worship 
        evident in earlier songs like "Velocity Girl" was here taken 
        to ridiculous extremes, and if Jim Beattie wasn't trying to hide his love 
        for chiming guitars, he wasn't trying to do anything with it either. Songs 
        like "Gentle Tuesday" and "Imperial" (which benefits 
        from strings and a more direct vocal) are so obviously straight from the 
        early Roger McGuinn and company model that one might as well just pretend 
        that's what's being heard. It's also a bit of a bemusing shock to hear 
        Gillespie trying to politely and gently sing as opposed to his later dripping 
        of attitude in every borrowed Jagger sneer, but such are the ways. This 
        all said, there's a weird way Sonic Flower Groove was prescient -- if 
        the Stone Roses loved the Byrds too, they loved this phase of Primal Scream 
        just as much, while jaunty songs like "Treasure Trip" slightly 
        forecast bits of Brit-pop almost ten years down the line. If there's a 
        secret highlight, "Love You," with its moody ghost-of-Jesus 
        & Mary Chain drums underpinning the slow chime, is it.    
      (by Ned Raggett, AMG) 
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