As a general rule, I tend to avoid double albums like—well, not quite the Plague—maybe just a pretty girl with a slightly-suspect cold sore, or anything by the Dave Matthews Band. And honestly, the one double-record set I’ve ever really dug as a whole was Floyd’s Ummagumma, and only then because that oeuvre de strange-junk quietly embraced its own clusterf—ktitude and didn’t ever insist that anyone should be listening to the thing—just that they could, if they felt like a trip down the rabbit hole.