Polaroids of Androids - Latest

Seekae - Yech

Thu, 24 May 2012 16:15:40 +1000

Oh look, the sound guy has set up a microphone, doesn't he know that's only going to be utilised for mid-song banter by these trippity troppity instrumentalists. And not much of that even, with the Seekae lads consistently preferring Deep Belly Rumbling Thuds over Mid-set Comedic Aspirations. But, what's this then? Some mildly haunting vocals. A touch of cynicism and even veil grabs at grandeur. And while the band's previous work isn't completely mute (see Ivan Ghoul's inclusion on their debut), the sincerity in which the vocals are delivered here perfectly complements the subtleties of the score. Here's hoping this becomes a centrical part of their future creative direction.

The video was recorded at sunrise (nah, not Koch Koch's place) at the Sydney Opera House's Utzon Room. You can catch Seekae performing a few doors down in the Opera Theatre this Sunday as part of this year's Vivid Festival. Tickets and more info here.

Japandroids - Celebration Rock (9.8)

Wed, 23 May 2012 11:19:54 +1000

Throughout the history of Internet Rock Music (2006-present), Japandroids Pty Ltd have prided themselves on equally dividing their focus between their two core business arms — Bromance and Nostalgia. Both of these limbs have consistently been bulging with muscular masculinity, engineered for crushing beer cans and high-fiving besties, perfectly masking the heartache of another failed female romantic endeavour, as well as being utilised as an expression of appreciation for their fellow species.

While nobody in their sober mind would dare describe their debut record, Post-Nothing, as a "subtle adventure in the pursuit of real love", the album took on an unmistakably introspective focus, internalising the seemingly never-ending battle to find a pleasant enough vagina to lodge semen into over an extended period of time.

Celebration Rock calls off the search party.

Actually, it goes further than that, tricking the search party into returned to Base Camp and then stealing all their pocket money, bludgeoning this metaphoric group of innocent volunteers into a unrecognisable heap of intestines and regrets, while screaming "shout like hell to the heavens" into the empty night sky, before speeding off down the Highway of Life 101 in a Mustang Yolo, zero fucks in their rear-view mirror and a million hours of freedom and Canadian Club ahead of them.

But aside from the subconscious serial-killing, narcissistic rebellion this record might conjure up in some listeners, above all else (as the title would suggest) this album is a celebration of life, delivered through the basic mechanism of unapologetically straight-shooting rock and roll. More specifically, this album is about the jubilation of the last fleeting moments of adolescence. An adolescence that has already been dragged out well past it's used-by-date, overlapping into the tragically mundane world of adulthood. "We don't want to worry about dying, we just want to worry about those sunshine girls" is still tattooed in cursive across the chests and butt cheeks of both Japandroids members. And there's still no regrets, with the band continuing to live every weekend as if an unwanted pregnancy email will be waiting for them in their Monday morning inbox. This is nostalgia for the glory days - those days when, even as you're living them, you can almost feel time slipping through your fingers. Romanticising your final hurrah, the last summer and the slightly unclear memories that attach themselves to these moments.

It's this sense of urgency and drive that makes Celebration Rock such a remarkably good record. An alzheimeric glance at nostalgia that's primarily overshadowed by an appreciation of the dissipating present. With every line and crowd-yelled echo delivered as if it's the last words of a twenty-something share house resident reluctantly accepting full-time employment and/or that his fuck buddy has become his girlfriend.

But that's not today. And right now there's no pondering, contemplating or worrying about tomorrow. It's just about some mates, arms around each other, beers spilling, occasional gentle pecks on each other's cheeks and the possibility of vomiting on each other at the end of the night, leading to some mild sexual experimentations, pushed right up to the point where the whole vomit incident becomes just a minor footnote in an explosive night of Bromantic Exploration. And right now nothing else holds the same level of significance.

And this acute sense of aliveness is what dictates the record's sole purpose — to be performed live.

Japandroids are a band where their albums are a reason to tour, not the other way around. They know who they are, who their fans are, and they aren't aiming for artistic heights; they just want enough money for some petrol to get them to the next show. Of course, there's an unmistakable romanticism attached to this simplistic view of survival, even more-so in this era of television karaoke contests, five-minute careers and fantastic Saturday Night Live performances.

But more than that (and all of the billion paragraphs presented here), this album is simply unattached. Celebration Rock is just two guys making triumphantly brilliant punk songs, joyously expressing their lust for an instance. Lost in a moment fuelled by an overwhelming happiness in the surrounding company of friends, the creation of vivid imagery featuring Springsteen riding Mark Hoppus bareback through a field of Paul Rudd's and the act of bottling more memories from these days than any other period in our lives. And right now, as we put off growing up for another week, it's hard to imagine needing much else.

Cam Meekins - Do You

Tue, 22 May 2012 18:38:43 +1000

It's 2012, and more people than ever before claim to 'write code' (read: write mark-up), yet we're still stuck without a legitimate nerdcore rap leader. I'm not talking about that self-proclaimed Nerd Rap comic-book-in-my-backpack movement of the South Park Era, obsessed with fapping off to Ms Portman in a galaxy far far away — in their parent's basement. I'm looking for dope-ass rhymes about the strtotime() function, an entire mixtape dedicated to the awesomeness of the Raspberry Pi Project and a gritty diss-track aimed squarely at those responsible for keeping the Paypal API documentation up-to-date.

But until I get around to getting my iMac-recorded debut compressed down to FLAC format, the linguistic skills of white-collar Boston l0ser, Cam Meekins, and his hash-tag track names, #firstworldproblem ballads and emoticon-titled tape will have to do.

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Download Cam's new album, :) :/ :(, via Earmilk.

Wabz - Keepsake

Fri, 18 May 2012 17:25:54 +1000

Here's a new one from Melbourne-based beatmaker, Wabz, a sparsly decorated and magnificently undersold jazz-tinged number, the perfect audible accompaniment for your Friday Afternoon Direction. Just a few milligrams of old fashioned Oomph, but overwhelmingly gracious in it's approach, reminiscence of the impeccable table manners of Jazzy Geoffrey Rush, right before he gets a little bit smashed on frog sweat and begins jamming on his keytar. Piano licks.

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Check out more of Wabz's stuff (most of which is a touch more scattered) over on his Soundcloud.

The Paper Scissors - Held Down Threw Up

Wed, 16 May 2012 12:51:13 +1000

It seems inevitable these days that artists arrive at a point of exhaustion. Tired of beating their fists against the unwelcoming doors of the local taste-making radio station. Tired of sending company-wide emails guilting their work colleagues into attending their show. Tired of seeing the same work colleagues, girlfriends and creepy stalking fans at every show. Tired of chasing Something. Tired of being set aside for younger, less talented cunts with cool hair-styles, plenty of do-anything energy and not even a slither of animosity towards the Music Industry. Yet.

But don't get it twisted my friend. This — for lack of a better label — 'bitterness' often bleeds into creative nonchalance, which in turn often internalises the process, leading to output more focused on the artist's own creative ambitions than the pressures of the surrounding world.

The Paper Scissors' frontman Jai Pyne sent this song with the attached description - "we don't give a fuck and we wanted to get back to what we enjoyed about music - making it and having fun and giving it to people to listen to". The band have moved a long way from telling people they prefer to not walk* and this song casts a wide creative net across triumphant rock trauma and space-age tropicalia, yet Pyne's passionate delivery brings it all back into their world, bringing the ambitious musical adventuring into a more sombre, personal and, above all else, believable focus.

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Held Down Threw Up features on the band's new (appropriately titled) FREE EP, which will be available to download via their website on May 21 (next Monday). You catch them launching it the following Thursday at FBi Social with assistance from Tasmania's Tiger Choir, who will also launching their new album Unicycles.

* In Loving Memory is still probably the best local album of the past few years that we somehow didn't find time to review. Public Apologies.

Shady Lane - Built Guilt (6.4)

Wed, 16 May 2012 00:05:04 +1000

This is an interesting album. That might sound like a backhanded, face-slapping winner, shot right down the line past those dubious Neutral Umpires with their zero opinions about anything, but there really is no other way to describe this. "Adventurous" is a label those umps would slap here, perfect for the quotable packshot sticker and dramatic large font press quips. "Selfish" is probably a step too far, obviously conquering up negative connotations of Artists focused primarily on contorting their bodies so that they're able to successfully lodge themselves inside their own vaginas.

But, Built Guilt is a selfish record. Not in the sense that it's overly egocentric or purposefully repellent; nor in that it approaches it's subject matter in an insular or overly personal manner. This is simply an album lost in it's own ideas. Obsessed with unnecessary complexity, unrequired jolts and trillions of whiplash-inducing shifts, devilishly over-detailed production layers and a frequent fidgetiness. Built Guilt isn't a record made for me. And it probably wasn't made for you either. Unless you're name is Jordy "Shady" Lane. Hi Jordy. Sorry that this is a bit of a negative, and somewhat confusing, review so far.

This album is a patchwork of pop ideas and bedroom prog-rock ambitions, muddled together inside the head of it's creator and then ejaculated on the face of predictability. The often indistinguishable resulting glaze is held together by large extravagant elements and random audio squirts. Oversized guitar movements and quirky zaps of robotic discomfort grind up next to each other, making strange bed-fellows and awkward consummation sounds. Traditional 'Quirksmode Pop' occasionally creeps in through a back door, but it's discarded hastily, with galavanting jam sessions held in a much higher regard than any form of tangibility or logic.

On some days the directionless freeform this album is built on is a welcoming creative escape, inviting me to get lost amidst the ridiculous amount of unnecessary detail, frequent restlessness and beautifully unstructured mess. But for the rest of the time this album sounds like just a creative exercise, it's existence solely justified by it's own pleasure. Although showcasing exceptional talents in a creatively limitless realm, it's a frequently bumpy and almost entirely uncomfortable ride.

Gig Review: Prince Tribute Show @ The Brass Monkey, Cronulla - Circa June, 2003

Mon, 14 May 2012 15:23:25 +1000

"Shit on the grass"

It was White Josh's birthday. He was still dating that shit girl at this stage. You know the one, talked my bloody ear off on that record-breaking two hours and eight minutes 2am drive from Canberra to Sydney while Whitey slept off an epic Raiders win in the back seat. Relentlessly yabbered on about her tongue piercing, her unfulfilling career, some new DVDs she bought. And suicide.

Josh didn't really want to do anything for his birthday, but we twisted his muscly arms into having a couple of beers after we finished our uncompetitive Sunday League soccer match. Whilst at the Engadine Arms Hotel Josh casually mentioned he'd seen a flyer for a Prince Tribute Show. Before you could say "he removed his ribs so he could give himself a Little Red Corvette" we were on our way to the venue.

For those fortunate enough to grow up outside the gated community/reality TV set commonly know as The Shire, The Brass Monkey is a little bit like The Vanguard. For those fortunate enough to not know what The Vanguard is, think Adult Contemporary Jazz Hole. A great place to have a Cosmo with your mates, a below-average Shiraz with your Uncle Graham on his 50th and/or down a few overpriced low-carb ales while watching Meggy Washington belt out another hardship tale about spending the last of her record label advance down at the coin laundry.

When we arrived at the Brass Monkey many of the other patrons had settled in for the dinner/show combination, occupying the front few rows. Relegated to the back of the venue didn't bother us in the slightest, being the location of the bar, thus affording us the luxury of not wasting precious milliseconds in commuting to and from the place where Wendy The Bar Wench was pouring the Carlton Draughts. We'd skipped over the eating option entirely, being louts in our early twenties with single figure weekly pay packets. This was a decision that seemed to have negatively affected Danny "I'm crazy and I'd do Heroin" Woods, with his weak, 16-year old pre-pubescent frame starting to frail slightly under the barrage of Rapid Beer Consumption.

After the awkwardness of staff explaining to some of the dinner patrons that they'd have to sacrifice their prime seating location to make room for a dance floor, a dark velvet curtain slowly winched back to reveal "Prince" and the "New Sutherland Shire Power Generation". It was quite a sight. Eight-or-so middle-aged, dejected musicians, their faces unable to hide the expressions of uncomfortableness and genuine surprise that people were waiting for them to commence. The frontman was especially interesting. A middle-eastern gent with more missed child support payments to his name than actual paid musical performances, he strutted across to the microphone with an unshakable sense of pub-rock confidence, the kind of self-assurance exclusively garnered from a combination of Coolabah cask wine rider and decades of failure.

As the band belted out their first song (probably 1999), White Josh exploded into his usual epileptic funk dance style, flailing his limbs around and sweating out buckets of consumed lager. He kept up this relentless perimeter-enforcing gyration for the entire 45 minute set.

Precise memories on how well the band played, what they played and/or the exact number of divorced, middle-aged ladies we grinded up next to is a little unclear. I do remember it being a bloody great show though, or at least, worth the $8 cover charge. The band closed out their (encore?) set with a ripping cock-rock rendition of Diamonds and Pearls. Josh took his shirt off, swirling it around his head to show his appreciation. Moments later he declared this the best birthday he'd ever had.

On the way out Danny Woods vomited sideways into a bin. It defied all of the conventional rules of physics and still to this day is one of the more amazing things I have ever witnessed.

Raw Prawn - None Left

Fri, 11 May 2012 13:06:06 +1000

Raw Prawn have been spreading themselves around Town for a little bit now, playing their unique brand of sinister yobo punk, "not thinking at all" and (metaphorically) smashing longneck bottles over the head of you, me and Everyone fortunate enough to be down with them in the Gutters Of Australia. Taking a mildly less abrasive approach than their elder sister Whores, the band embody a lot of the more enjoyable qualities of Sydney's fascination with pointless rebellion, head-butting lager attitude and dole pride, swilling it all together with dominate punk riffs and genuinely catchable lyrics. The band recently sorted out their Online Presence, adding this song to their previously barren Soundcloud page. Hopefully a proper full length (or even 7") release isn't too far off.

UNIF's oFFENDid t-shirt has been restocked

Thu, 10 May 2012 17:17:21 +1000

Jerry didn't convert to Judaism for the Jewish Jokes and you probably shouldn't convert to Neo-Nazism just for the Fashion. Although it's a very tempting proposition, especially when aided by the visual stimulants in iconic films such as Higher Learning, where the White Power Boys' Clockwork Orange-esque boots/trousers/army jacket combination looks especially striking when held up against Omar Epps' undeniably dated loose double denim and orange Timberlands outfit.

But there are plenty of half-way points, including this t-shirt from UNIF, which catches the eye with it's liberal use of the iconic Nazi swastika flag and then backhands everyone and anyone with an anti-high fashion statement.

UNIF recently re-stocked the design, which has been out-of-stock pretty much since the moment it was originally released mid last year. It's once again available via their web store in super limited quantities. There's also the "racist booting" sleeveless version for the extra hard cunt inside us all.

Opossom - Blue Meanies / Getaway Tonight

Wed, 09 May 2012 14:57:18 +1000

This one has been sitting in the Pile for a while. Smile and walk a mile. And if you could walk about a kilometre and a half in the ol' Imperial System, accompanied by the size twelve loathers and mindframe of this fella, then just imagine the Acid Adventures you'd experience. "This Fella" being Kody Nielson, formerly of The Mint Chicks and now of trans-solar-scope pop stars Opossom.

Oh, possum. And while on the topic, just imagine my Oh Face as this is pretty much right where The Mint Chicks left off. Nothing against those enjoyable Unknown Mortal Orchestra experiences but while they lean heavily towards day tripping in-and-around the rocky cliffs of Kaleidoscope Town, Opossom skip closer to the edge where toy robot punx, "troublegum" and unshamed poptarts melt into a gooey, over-glossed mess of rebellion and ridiculousness. Sounding pretty much like the logical next step on from The Chicks' career-defining, mind-bending "one of the best bloody albums ever", Screens.

Part one, a love ballad dedicated to the legendary Balinese psychedelic mushroom...

Episode Two. A forceful no-bullshit punk build-up, reminiscent of the sporadic teenage energy of Mark and Tommo double-teaming that Josie slut, before making way for some perfect shitgazing, escaping (literally) into a distant region somewhere between Kody's Spaced Mind and the black hole of oblivion that is Alyssa Milano's career since the dizzyingly heights of standing in the vicinity of Sir Scott Raynor.

Both tracks will feature on the group's debut album Electric Hawaii, which is due out on June 1 via Dark Summer Records.

Opossom will also be heading our way next week for a (very) short tour:

Wednesday, May 16: GoodGod Small Club, Sydney
Thursday, May 17: Phoenix Public House, Melbourne

Tickets for both shows available now via Moshtix.

Catcall - The Warmest Place (8.2)

Wed, 09 May 2012 10:12:12 +1000

I'm going to go ahead and admit that I know and quite like Catherine Kelleher aka Catcall, and that I recently took a day in lieu to watch Wrestlemania with her boyfriend who is also a friend of mine. That pretty much dissolves any non-bias one should expect from an album review as I: a) am obviously going to find it hard to criticise someone I'm friends with; and b) don't want to feel icy tension between Mr Catcall and I whilst I'm trying to enjoy Summer Slam on our next day in lieu. That being said, when I initially discovered Catcall, which involved me seeing the brilliant Satellites video directed by SPOD, I had no idea who she was and loved it straight away.

There was something about Satellites that immediately appealed to me. Obviously the tune is catchy as fuck and is one of the standout tracks on The Warmest Place, while the video is vibrant and striking and wonderfully simple yet clever. But something about Catcall was unlike anything I'd really seen from an Australian artist previously. Now that I've had a little time to reflect and gotten to know Cathy and her music better, I think I've realised that what I was initially drawn to in Catcall is simple — she's complete.

Whereas so many other local artists take time to find themselves and establish their music as unique, Catcall feels like she's arrived fully formed. Whether it's her music/style/album artwork/videos/live show — they all appear to be very calculated and meticulously thought through, not in a cold or scientific way, but more like a fully formed character in a compelling story by a novelist. Catcall is Catcall and it's hard to say that she's imitating any other artist.

And with the release of The Warmest Place, it's evident (in Sydney at least) that I'm not the only one that is enjoying the refreshing citrus burst that Catcall has dosed into the local, rather stagnant music scene. Her picture has graced the cover of various print and online media outlets, her album is getting a decent earful of airplay (although Triple J yet again failed to show any foresight and picked Temper Trap knock-off The Medics as this week's feature album) and she's generally getting the kind of equally decent alternative/mainstream coverage most artists only dream about.

You could argue a lot of that comes down to the support of her label and the team of creative minds she has working around her, but I really think that this entire project has involved a lot of strategy and awareness from Catherine. She even said herself in my recent interview with her that she's disenchanted with the current state of popular music in this country.

"Everything in Australian music feels really earnest at the moment and it's pissing me off! Like indie music with like the Jezabels and Matt Corby, that music is really emotional and heartbreaking and everyone's clips are whimsical."

I fully agreed with her at the time, although I was surprised to hear an Australian musician be so openly combative with other local artists. It is, after all a very one for all and all for one scene. Again though, it was refreshing to hear an artist express her own, legitimate opinion.

That courage is also reflected in her art. It surely would have been easier to make an album that was darker, more drenched in reverb, more moody, more "earnest", especially given the record's context (The Warmest Place is largely inspired by the death of her father a few years ago). Going to the lengths of transforming the most traumatic event in your life into the inspiration to craft a bright and upbeat pop album, rather than take the easier, more self-pitying creative path should be commended.

That being said, I think those murky emotional undertones are what gives the music on this record it's most appealing element — a true sense of vulnerability that the listener can connect with on some level, either consciously or unconsciously. It's the cliched "thing you just can't put your finger on," that I think a lot of people will also identify with when they hear it.

I can't be completely one-sided on the positivity metre. Kelleher isn't a trained musician like a Kate Miller-Heidke or a Katie Noonan, and that is reflected in the somewhat awkward/overly simple arrangements on the record. She's also not going to be competing on The Voice anytime soon. She does, however, have an obvious ear for crafting pop hooks and a honest and personal song writing style that adds to her context and her aura — and she's surrounded her self with the right collaborators in both her producers and her live band that have helped to effectively articulate those ideas in a way that compensates for her lack of traditional musical skills.

In the end though, the best way I feel I can explain my reaction to this album comes down to iPod Shuffle. Whenever my playlist is set to random and a Catcall tune kicks in, I feel an instant wave of change in my mood. I'm literally transported to a "warmer place." I know that sounds corny but it's true. Whether I'm drifting along to Swimming Pool, strutting to August, or throwing a lounge room dance party on pingas with Satellites*, there's something about this music and what it's emotionally and artistically wrapped in that just gets to me.

The Warmest Place excites me not only for what it does musically but for what it does for music. I really hope it inspires some more local artists to take risks too and to invest themselves more personally in their music. Whether this works for Catcall in the long run is yet to be seen, and I'll be closely monitoring her career as both a friend and a critic to see if she's successful. One thing is for sure though — curiosity may kill the cat, but she won't be going out a pussy.

* True story.

Gig Review: The Mountain Goats @ Metro Theatre - 07/05/2012

Mon, 07 May 2012 00:08:34 +1000

Goats?

Goats.

There were several moments during The Mountain Goats' performance where I felt that I may have been involved in some sort of elaborate prank. The amount of chaotic applause and song request screams that rang out from the audience between each tune was fucking ridiculous. I wouldn't have been surprised if the entire audience busted into a choreographed flash mob dance act, jazz hands and all.

I wasn't the only one that thought so. "I'm gonna be telling people about you guys for quite sometime," said the Goats' front man, John Darnielle. He repeatedly made reference to how insane the crowd was reacting, saying we were, "Fucking awesome," despite his fears about sounding like a, "kiss ass."

I only knew one Mountain Goats' song from their entire set (I was there as a plus one), so I was confused as shit by the audience reaction. Nerdy looking dudes were losing it, pumping their fists, throwing goat horns, even starting mini mosh pits. I thought Darnielle was gonna crowd surf at one stage, he looked so pleased with the situation. He didn't — although he did at one stage take off his spectacles for a brief fit of head banging.

Being part of this crowd actually made me feel guilty for not getting what everyone was so excited about. It was like what I imagine an atheist would experience at a Hillsong convention — everyone seemed nice, polite and really happy with life, but their unwavering enthusiasm about something I didn't give a shit about just made me feel tremendously uncomfortable.

I'm not meaning to be critical of the Mountain Goats, they were good — in a "they're the kind of band who's CD my dad would buy from Sanity the day after seeing them play a set on Good News Weekend" kind of "good." But they didn't blow me away.

I was stoked to hear the band play This Year (aka the only Mountain Goats' song I know), but the rest of the performance I literally spent gazing at nut jobs in the crowd that were thrashing about like they were at a fucking Metallica concert.

And power to them! This was not the best gig I've been to, but it's definitely one of the best audiences I've ever been a part of. Whether they were legit, or high on crystal meth I don't know, but being a Mountain Goats fan looks like a fucking ball.

Star Slinger x The Weeknd x Drake - Crew Love (Star Slinger's Jersey Refix)

Fri, 04 May 2012 12:06:43 +1000

Over the past year or so, British producer, Star Slinger, has switched his focus from his own glitchy beats to more remix work, most notably within the tight confines of the Internet Rap genre, (unofficially) fingering songs by Danny Brown, Lil B, Juicy J, A$AP Rocky and even (bad gal) Ri-Ri. Now he's taken to the Weekend At Drakies album cut Crew Love, flipping it from a self-depreciating 4am bro-out to a euphoric end-of-the-night/world ding-popper.

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And for those fortunate enough to hustle tickets to the Star Slinger + Melo-X Musica showcase in Sydney tomorrow evening, here's the playing times:

8:00 - (doors open)
8:15 - Albatross
9:00 - Lancelot
10:00 - Star Slinger
11:00 - MeLo-X
12:00 - Frames

Loads more remixes over on Star Slinger's Soundcloud.

Joe McKee - Darling Hills

Thu, 03 May 2012 15:30:12 +1000

Unlike the Buds Of Tim May and the Horse, Swan and Bloody Violence of his former life with legendary apocalyptic Perth outfit, Snowman, these Hills have no place for bloodthirsty forest retreats, psychedelic reawakenings or even primitive, trans-body experiences. McKee, now back in the Valleys Of Perth after years amidst the Smog-Choked Regions Of London, has no patience for the chaos anymore. Instead we get a more settled demeanour with our host taking a more overarching analysis role, gently massaging his unvaried ghostly tones over sweeping cinematic backings and creating a wonderfully timeless atmosphere.

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Darling Hills is the first single from McKee's debut solo album, Burning Boy, out May 25 via Dot Dash.

Intentions - Guilt Party (8.7)

Wed, 02 May 2012 17:35:56 +1000

Remember that Chappelle Show sketch where the hoochie pisses on Davey in order to show her displeasure for his frequent insistence to "keep it real"? That's kinda where I thought Intentions would end up. Not in the literal sense, whereby the three lads would find themselves drowning in a golden shower of chlamydia, but more that their natural, unforced mating of math-rock firmness and loose-fitting melodic qualities would get lost amidst efforts to constantly prove their DIY credentials.

But, thankfully, on this four-track 7" release, not only have the group retained their unrestricted pop attributes, they've even brought them more into focus. Most notably with the stronger emphasis placed on Simon Unwin's unique vocals, which with their distant and strained style are perfectly suited to dangle freely outside the tight confines of the musical arrangements. Delivered with an unmistakable sense of conviction, his punctuated one-liners provide the much needed human element of the trio's sound, breaking the methodical regiment, as well as taking great pleasure in bouncing around inside your brain for an eternity. Or at least until someone with some sense brings Sir Chappelle out of retirement.