It's Friday night, or technically Saturday morning, and you just want a beer. Someone maneuvering towards the bar just smacked you in the face with his elbow, but you're more concerned with trying to breathe because the room is consumed by smoke. Next task: Figure out how to make it through the throng of people waiting in line for the bathroom. Figured out where you are yet?
By no stretch of the imagination am I an expert, or even a connoisseur of rock. I am, however, very picky — addicted to the "skip" button, you might say. Creed's Human Clay makes this personal compulsion difficult to satisfy.