Now this is relaxing. Almost too much so. Who would have thought what was once possibly Britain’s most unruly band to come out of the punk scene would now be the one most likely to cure your insomnia? Hugh Cornwell is now crooning to the high heavens asking you to “let him down easy” while there are fake-sounding horns blaring in the background like it's a Rod Stewart video or something. The musicians sound cheaper than ever before, and the strange thing is, on quite a few tracks here, you can’t help but tap your feet to some of these ditties. Ah, these Stranglers – they have a funny way of getting into your psyche like few other bands! “Skin Deep” is by far the best of the best – a somnambulant, yet cunning journey through synthesized sounds that is somewhat close to “Golden Brown”, at least in the vanity department.But I cannot get past one overriding factor – this is the most exquisitely recorded slice of boredom I have ever heard in my life.

A defiantly odd act no matter what era they debuted in, the Stranglers happened to release their initial works in the midst of punk era Britain, and got themselves pegged as misanthropic thugs. But then again, snap judgments proved useless when it came to these guys, and furthermore, they could not have cared less. The album is a psychological tempest, going well beyond the mere question of what is or is not punk rock - leave that for simpletons like the Clash and the Pistols - instead focusing on the ins, outs, and battles of everyday street life. You know, stuff that actually mattered to functioning followers of the punk rock scene, most likely. Dave Greenfield's nimble keyboard work is the main musical anchor here, winding around everyone else's trials and tribulations, thumbing it in the noses of societal norms - or even the norms of punk rock, as evidenced by the copious amounts of professional musicianship on display. The proper album even ends on a mesmerizing four-part epic reminiscent of progressive rock ("Down in the Sewer"), while the 2001 re-issue adds three bonus tracks ("Choosey Susie", "Go Buddy Go", a live version of "Peasant in the Big Shitty") which are all worth hearing, and blend seamlessly into the fabric of the album itself.

This album and subsequent tour were supposed to be the "Return of KISS", which was confusing on a number of fronts. Didn't they just blitz the public with like, a ton of solo records and a feature film, the very year before? So, what exactly were these buffoons returning from? It was as if they were subconsciously acknowledging the previous year's ventures were grandiose failures. Then again, it went deeper than that. Criss was a broken-down mess by now, both physically and mentally. The band chose to bring in the producer from his solo album - Vini Poncia - who took one look at Criss and decided he wasn't fit to play drums on this record. The band called in the drummer who played on Ace's solo record, Anton Fig, to ghost-play on every track - except for one, the appropriately-named "Dirty Livin". Dynasty, in general, doesn't sound like a typical KISS record, or at least not one up to this point. Then again, we heard traces of this drift in Love Gun as well. Furthermore, despite the illusion of togetherness as displayed on the album cover - which was a hoax in itself - it all sounds like the product of a very fractured band, as if they simply merged four distinct personalities in one record, never bothering to cross paths with one particular track. In one sense, it makes for an interesting record because it appears to jump from one weird place to another, with the added rider that it does away with the usual KISS reference points and dares to go in directions that the older records never bothered to go in. But in another sense, it feels very artificial - they are only doing this because it's trendy, or they are bored, or just pissed off with each other. As B.B. King sang once upon a time, the thrill is gone…and I mean, long gone.

Whereas Ace used his solo record to drown and/or toot away his sorrows, and Gene treated his as an excuse to laze about and chase tail, Paul's is just plain boring. We are supposed to take him at face value as the serious, love-focused, slightly mysterious musician from Kiss, which means all of these songs are as predictably gag-me-with-a-spoon bone-headed as a high school football team's playbook from the 1930's to Bill Belichick. As with Gene's record, a whole gaggle of guest stars here, but to mention them would be a disservice.

This is one confusing record - technically, a greatest hits compilation, but not really - because approximately half of these tracks have been remixed and/or altered in some way, shape, or form.