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the pitchfork review by nick sylvester sept. 25 2005. 1.7 out of 10.

The Warlocks, as far as I can tell, are not the enemy. Some people disagree though, and with good reason: Think of all the rock bands that would love to call themselves Warlocks, but they can't because of...Warlocks. Instead they had to settle for "Bloc Party" or "Get Him Eat Him" or worse, "John Vanderslice." During Surgery I became 80% convinced the only reason Warlocks put out records is to keep others from taking their band name. The other 20% I'm dead fucking sure these un-magical ass clowns are retards running with scissors, shit down their legs, hoping somebody-- anybody-- might take off his hat and put change in it for them. "Come save us," Warlocks sing on their lazy schlock-called-stoner rock opener. "Come save us, from ourselves."
Not to say there isn't an aesthetic at work here! If you've ever gone into Guitar Center, to the section of the store with the guitars on the wall, inevitably you'll see at least three pimply dudes jackknifed over strapless Gibsons, left foot on the amp, their step-moms arms-folded and begrudgingly "fostering a relationship" with their hubbies' chump sons. The song the kids are all playing goes something like "Thursday's Radiation", which the Warlocks have graciously included midway through Surgery. The amp's built-in distortion option flipped up, one finger backs and forths over one string while the rest are left open, for no other reason than the kids have no idea what to do with them. Loud, soft, fast, slow, endless eighth-note down-strums, then the crucial question: "Is playing guitar this easy?" Step-mom's fake boobs say yes.
Apparently Warlocks used to sing about drugs or whatever, how awesome they are, the hilarious things that happen to your butt when you eat cat tranqs, etc. Ho ho ho, save "It's Just Like Surgery" ("There's no one else, that makes me feel the way that you do"), I think they've finally gotten it out of their system. Which leaves Warlocks with what exactly? A mopey bunch of trite sap O.D.-type tales almost as unstomachable as the band's former crapothecary hymns. The worst is bubblegum-gone-stale "The Tangent": "As they feel his pulse/ Disappear without a trace/ What are we going to do?/ They all scream." The second-worst is "We Need Starpower", second-worst only because I hate meta-commentaries: "How does one feel to be so dead inside?" Oh fucking boy. Kids, stick to Magic cards.