— Tommy Stinson

Lockdown, Laptops and Late Discoveries

There’s no escaping it — Covid was a complete clusterfuck. Yet lockdown did have one strange upside: it afforded us the time to finally dive into music we’d long neglected.

My Covid Listening Party didn’t begin with The Replacements — it started with techno. Lying on the couch with a company laptop, trying to stay motivated was a daily struggle. The only way I seemed to remain somewhat productive was to plug into the punishing beats of hour-and-a-half-long sets from the likes of Charlotte de Witte and Amelie Lens to get the blood pumping. There was a good reason for this. Most techno sets – apart from some nonsensical wordplay – do not contain any distracting lyrics.

Techno’s relentless beats often draw parallels to the sound of manufacturing production in the city it emerged from: Detroit. It is somewhat ironic to think that churning out corporate communications in the depths of the coronavirus is where one new techno listener emerged from. That said, too much techno can be bad for your head. In the evenings, I used to switch back to my beloved guitars. After pilfering The Fall’s back catalogue over many weeks, my attention shifted to The Replacements: a band who offered an emotional alternative to techno’s brain-beating.

For whatever reason, The Replacements seem to have escaped the attention of the average British rock fan. Purists may argue against this, but in my 20-odd years of festivals I don’t think the band was mentioned once. Perhaps I’m of a generation fixated on our domestic output. My own social media algo suggests that music started with Joy Division and ended at Knebworth. This mystery is all the more curious considering The Replacements’ career started in Minneapolis in 1979, spanned the entirety of the ‘80s, and ended in ignominy in 1991 after singer/songwriter Paul Westerberg called it quits on the band. The rest of the original Replacements lineup was made up of half-brothers Tommy (bass) and Bob Stinson (lead guitar) and Chris Mars (drums).

Bizarrely, The Replacements always lingered in the back of my mind, even though I only started listening to them five years ago. My initial interest was piqued by Jackass actor, Johnny Knoxville. Somewhere in the fog of my MTV2 memory, I recall Knoxville singing the praises of The Replacements in such an evangelical way in one interview, I was convinced he considered them deities of rock’n’roll. So the question is, are they? The answer is less clear than you probably think.

The Wreckage of The Replacements

The Replacements’ extensive ‘80s output is complemented by a collection of Mötley Crüe-like farces. Dysfunctional musicians, inter-band bullying, record company rows, substance abuse and even electrocutions, their story has it all. Indeed, the band’s history has already been documented by writer Bob Mehr in his 2016 New York Times bestselling book, Trouble Boys: The True Story of The Replacements. When I initially found Mehr’s book, I began to think that The Replacements were perhaps bigger than I’d considered. Like pictures of the aforementioned Fall, The Replacements seemed to engender a dangerous mysteriousness about them. You only had to glance at the Trouble Boys cover artwork to assume there were several skeletons there and, probably, a crypt of killer tunes.

It’s no wonder that a book on one of America’s best bands was bound to do rather well. Owing to the group’s lack of interest in making music videos, there isn’t really any major YouTube presence for the casual fan to engage with. A handful of live videos and interviews do exist, but the majority of their story remains undocumented or uncommitted to video. Trouble Boys is therefore the definitive authority of the band’s entire history. To write about The Replacements without mentioning it is to do a huge disservice to its author. Mehr’s comprehensiveness also means it’s tricky to write anything Replacements-related and not rip off Trouble Boys in some capacity.

Even so, the content of any rock biography is only ever going to be as interesting as the people it covers. When you read the introduction and first couple of Trouble Boys chapters, you’re instantly hooked. The unhappy early childhoods of all four musicians are enough to develop a stark and sympathetic bent towards the band. I’m unwilling to disclose everything, but band founder Bob Stinson’s upbringing is a tough read. Sadly, Bob died in 1995, aged 35.

Album-by-album

The panoply of Replacements material over their ‘80s and early ‘90s period consists of seven studio albums, a stack of singles and EPs, countless covers, live albums and bootlegs. A basic sketch of the band’s recorded career shows their trajectory from snotty punk outfit in their early years, to something more mellow in their later material. Without wishing to rehash what has been written a thousand times before, their album catalogue starts with 1981’s punk-inspired Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash, quickly followed by 1982’s Stink EP.

Opening Stink track, ‘Kids Don’t Follow‘, shared thematic similarities with Sham 69’s 1978 single ‘If the Kids are United’. Other Stink song titles implied that the adolescent punk inspiration was mainly based on boredom and frustration with education (‘Fuck School’, ‘God Damn Job’, ‘Dope Smokin’ Moron’). The English punk influence in this approach to songwriting was clearly informed by an appreciation of the Sex Pistols. Westerberg and Mars were early converts to the Pistols, later switching the Stinson brothers on to it. “I was supposed to graduate high school in ‘77, the spring of that year” Westerberg said, “[Punk]made me think, Fuck this school shit. Fuck everything.2” ‘White and Lazy’ did mark a slight shift in the band’s Stink sound. No longer were they a band hellbent on brash punk bile; they had, at least partially and perhaps ironically, embraced harmonicas and an undercurrent of blues to create something distinctly more American. Listening to the EP from the start, up to ‘White and Lazy‘ — the fifth track on Stink — the listener could be forgiven for feeling that the group would never smash punk’s three-chord prison.

1983’s Hootenanny showcased slower tempos which ran in contrast to an increase in the production budget. Hootenanny sketched out an appreciating maturity in Westerberg’s writing. Songs about love had crept in, as opposed to one-minute tirades about school. Rich in texture and feeling, different instruments and effects were incorporated that gave an early glimpse into Westerberg’s interest in exploring new sounds.

Further examples followed on 1984’s Let It Be. The opening of which suggested a further change in direction, only to see the punk spunk resurface on third and fourth album tracks ‘We’re Coming Out’ and ‘Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out’. The album’s standout triumvirate — a piano-led exploration of gender roles on ‘Androgynous’, along with ‘Unsatisfied’ and ‘Answering Machine’ – were arguably the best tracks the band had penned in their career up to that point. These highlights were tempered by possibly one of the funniest song titles to ever appear on an album: ‘Gary’s Got a Boner’. Despite Gary’s arousal, Let It Be built on Hootenanny’s coming of age, pushing Westerberg’s songwriting further into themes of identity, isolation and romantic confusion.

The Replacements’ next two records were perhaps their most important. 1985’s Tim not only confirmed their insanity in terms of choosing their album titles; it fleshed out the developing alternative American rock in their sound. By now, the punk/hardcore influence was all but discarded. Tim further marked The Replacements’ first record on Seymour Stein’s Sire Records following the band’s departure from Minneapolis-based label Twin/Tone. Even with major label backing and their best sales performance to date, Tim failed to hit in the same way as their previous offerings.

1987’s Pleased to Meet Me is, in my view, their magnum opus. A fact more intriguing considering lead guitarist and band founder Bob Stinson had left in the summer of ’86. It followed concerns over his drink and drug intake. Bob Stinson’s departure was in part also due to falling foul of the new Tommy/Paul power duo within the band and a new musical direction. Running order-wise, ‘I.O.U.’ retained The Replacements’ obnoxiousness, whereas ‘I Don’t Know’ and ‘Can’t Hardly Wait’ included strings and brass. They even flirted with lounge jazz on ‘Nightclub Jitters’, confirming their outright ability to surprise listeners.

By 1989, Don’t Tell a Soul – The Replacements’ sixth album – marked Paul Westerberg’s new, overarching reach. The cover artwork features a black and white solitary shot of Westerberg, not the other members. Although accepted as one of the weakest records in The Replacements’ armoury, it is a solid, well-paced effort. In an interview with MTV, Westerberg confirmed the album’s approach: “…rather than have a lot of acoustic stuff and then full-bore rockers, we tried to meld them together a little bit more so we wouldn’t get stuck with people who wanted to hear one quiet one, and then a lot of people who wanted to hear a loud one.”

In the same interview, Westerberg considered the effect Bob Stinson’s replacement, Slim Dunlap, had on the writing of Don’t Tell a Soul. “I think with Slim in the band, it was a little different. First time he played with us on record, and he’s sort of a professional. So I’d been rubbed off a little bit.3” Don’t Tell a Soul’s takeaway was a reminder of how good Westerberg’s voice always was. As American as apple pie, it was often overlooked in the Bob Stinson era as the latter’s insane guitar solos often overshadowed Westerberg’s croon. A certain amount of introspection also exists on the record. ‘Rock’n’Roll Ghost‘ is the standout, where Westerberg comes face to face with his rock’n’roll apparition (‘I look into the mirror and I see/ A rock’n’roll ghost/ A rock’n’roll ghost’).

The group’s final album, All Shook Down, was released in the second half of 1990. Again, it sketched out the ageing of the remaining Replacements. Love, weddings and long-lost romance were overarching themes as they again stepped away from their traditional sound. Strings on the acoustic ballad ‘Sadly Beautiful’ rubber-stamped the new maturity. There was a curious additional effect in the adoption of a classic, soft rock sound. ‘Happy Town’, ‘Torture’ and ‘My Little Problem’ are notable for their dive into driving rock. There is some irony in The Replacements’ metamorphosis into a driving band when the amount of road miles they digested left them jaded personally and professionally.

Undoubtedly, this is a quick tour of the group’s work. To do it justice, I’d encourage any alternative music fan to run through each album in order. The rewards of delving into this treasure trove of music spanning the entirety of the ‘80s and into the early ‘90s is simply too good to ignore. With such an extensive collection of recorded music it’s easy to create your own ‘Best Of’.

Myths and Meltdowns

If you do begin to read Trouble Boys as an accompaniment to The Replacements’ recorded output, it’s easy to confuse the band as wasted, degenerate drunks, but the myth is always bigger than the
reality. Or so they say. In this case, the myth is somewhat smaller than the reality. If you’re someone who struggles with alcohol addiction, reading Bob Mehr’s book might have an adverse effect on your consumption. There’s no glamour here: it’s a damning example of the dangers drink and drugs pose both mentally and physically.

Paul Westerberg documented his tormented relationship with booze on ‘Here Comes a Regular’ from 1985’s Tim. If Barney from The Simpsons had his own song, this would be it. Westerberg is like some red-nosed barfly you’d expect to see sat in a saloon at 12pm on his own, that you later find out is the lead singer of a moderately successful band when he staggers on stage nine hours later. It’s all there in his voice: gravelly, weathered, fags and liquor-afflicted. Westerberg’s Jekyll and Hyde alternates throughout the group’s output like the wet and dry side of a beermat.

Oddly, the alcohol-inspired self-implosion means that the initial pathos you feel for the band as you continue through Trouble Boys evaporates with each page. At numerous points, I was left to question if the group were a collection of All-American assholes. Stories of trashing tour buses, spitting iced tea in the face of fans, coaxing alcoholics to have a drink and other ongoing belligerent behaviour across their career is likely a sign of me getting older, having no time for a bunch of snotty-nosed kids living their dream. The way Trouble Boys is written, though, leaves you pondering what it must have been like to roll out into a succession of towns and cities in Nowheresville, USA, day-upon-day, year-upon-year. Fatigue, label pressure, and standing on the verge of becoming reasonably successful on their seventh album, shadow the endless road miles driven to reach that point. When you consider the alcoholism that ran through The Replacements it’s no wonder they got burnt out after so many years on the road. Additionally, the issue of financial insecurity comes up repeatedly in Trouble Boys. There is a perpetual theme of the band not being paid on time. That, or Bob Stinson simply pocketed the band’s fees before their manager could, to feed his drink and drug demons.

The Replacements story is a cultural confirmation that you can’t really write about the effects of touring monotony, or attempt to explain it, unless you’ve been in that situation yourself. It’s easy — and ultimately arrogant — to be an armchair critic assessing ‘80s excess when you were barely out of nappies towards the end of that decade. Therein lies the fascination of The Replacements. If you step outside the shadow of the Trouble Boys book and the band’s escapades, The Replacements’ story presents a dilemma for a generation brought up to revel in rock’n’roll’s excess. In the self-conscious world of 2026, their story remains relevant either as a relic, or as a romantic paean to authentic working-class American music. I’ll leave you to make your own mind up.

Influences

In terms of the band’s lasting impact, this has already been done to death, so there’s little point in rehashing a Spirograph of their effects. There are two clear examples of their lasting influence that hit close to home. First, ‘Gary’s Got a Boner’ from Let It Be seems to have inspired Blink-182’s entire career gimmick: one big dick joke. The second is The Strokes. Both bands seemed to have ‘warmed it up for everyone else’, whether it’s American grunge or the British indie revival of 2002-2006. There are numerous other linkages, but again, it’s better to work these out for yourself, rather than a constant conveyor belt of rock writers signposting it for you.

In reference to the second point, The Replacements themselves were all too aware of their own shortfall to capitalise on their music career. Their plagued upbringings indicate that they were never quite earmarked by the music gods to step into the big league. There are numerous self-citations within Trouble Boys of their inability to impress label bosses, failure to produce a smash hit single and their penchant for self-sabotage. You’ll find multiple accounts of this across their mid-to-late output, which makes their writing even more intriguing.

‘Treatment Bound’ from 1983’s Hootenanny contains one of the most explicit references:

Label wants a hit
And we don’t give a shit
‘Cause we’re gettin’ noplace
As fast as we can

‘Bastards of Young’ from Tim also explores the stumbling up the steps of the music world:

God, what a mess
On the ladder of success
Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung

The epitaph for The Replacements’ frustrating career lies in Let It Be’s ‘Unsatisfied’, however. It is a symbol of the band itself; always yearning, always unyielding, yet failing to reach a level of satisfaction. If you were to place The Replacements on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I doubt they would look back on their career as having reached the second level, let alone achieving self-actualisation. If you only listen to one Replacements song, you could do worse than exploring ‘Unsatisfied.’

Fans, failure? and The Replacements’ Legacy

In my view, this lack of self-satisfaction extends to The Replacements’ fans. Westerberg’s right-hand man, Tommy Stinson, explored his view on the relationship with their audience:

“They were more like us than they fuckin’ knew. They didn’t really fit anywhere. They probably didn’t aspire to a whole lot, but also didn’t aspire to doing nothing either. That’s the kind of fan we probably appealed to most: the people that were in that gray area. Just like us.”4

Rock’n’roll is a rallying cry for people who don’t really fit in. That’s what makes it special. It’s also why there is such unity within fan groups. If you can relate to Stinson’s view at a personal level, then, in my opinion, you’re likely to connect with their music. Even in 2026 their output resonates with a generation who will have a life looking absolutely nothing like their parents’.

It’s also no real surprise that I connected with their music during Covid. The feelings of isolation, alienation and frustration are themes that were inherent across those years and indeed the post-Covid world of confusion, uncertainty and doubt we find ourselves in. This is why The Replacements will continue to find new audiences. Lead track from 1985’s Tim, ‘Hold My Life’ is symbolic of a life on permanent pause, just as it was across 2020 and 2021.

The truth, though, is that maybe we never deserved The Replacements. Perhaps we’re too spoilt in this fertile English land to uncover more American mavericks. Whatever it is, the US is lucky to have produced such a pivotal band. Perhaps we should let them keep them.

References
1 Mehr, B. Trouble Boys: The True Story of The Replacements. Boston: Da Capo Press, 2016, p. 93
2 Mehr, B. Trouble Boys: The True Story of The Replacements. Boston: Da Capo Press, 2016, p.27
3 MTV Interview with Paul Westerberg. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bynCBrzDec
4 Mehr, B. Trouble Boys: The True Story of The Replacements. Boston: Da Capo Press, 2016, p.115

Of course, the good news is that, if you have been blissfully unaware of this major talent for four decades, you have a veritable treasure trove of past releases to immerse yourself in and marvel over, whether it’s his band, Howlin’ Wilf & The Veejays, his many solo projects, or as part of this very sextet. MOJO magazine even called him “The United Kingdom’s Greatest Soul Singer.”

Off The Fence, the sixth album by the outfit, does little to dispel the well-deserved accolade. Hunter himself drifts between sounding like Sam Cooke, Ben E King and Otis Redding. What a voice. What a songwriter. The vast majority of this record sounds like a bunch of lost 1960s soul classics. It’s Heavenly, really.

‘Two Birds One Stone‘ opens the album with a charming piano-led lilt, and an easy sway from Hunter himself, as though he’d paying extremely close attention to the Lieber and Stoller songbook. It’s irresistible. The honky-tonking swing of ‘Ain’t That A Trip‘ is another highlight, a bluesy swagger not too far removed from the likes of Amis Milburn’s ‘Bad, Bad Whiskey‘, while ‘A Sure Thing‘ has a classy instrumental backing that recalls Aretha Franklin’s ‘I Say A Little Prayer’ and vocally feels somewhere between Wilson Pickett and The O’Jays.

Fans of old school soul and blues will delight in the wonders within, whether it be the slower, more affecting grooves of ‘Let Me Out Of This Love‘, the early Marvin Gaye tinged ‘Trouble Comes Calling‘ or the jazzier title track. I would think that, had James Hunter been born earlier and raised in Detroit, it wouldn’t have been long before he would become a regular fixture in the legendary Hitsville USA. He’s that good.

At the ripe old age of 62, Hunter might just have somehow made the strongest set of tunes of his entire career, perhaps having been given a new lease of life after being signed by erstwhile Black Keys man Dan Auerbach‘s label Easy Eye Sound. Daptone’s loss is very much their gain as is emphatically evidenced here.

Off The Fence is out now on Easy Eye Sound.

‘At First’

‘I Like It Like That’

‘If You Want Me’

‘Around The Corner’

Generosity, open conversation and creative collaboration with Steve Cobby, a one-man production line who records, releases and promotes his music from a shed-turned-studio (the ‘Shedio’) in the back garden of his Kingston-Upon-Hull home, allowed the EP to take shape and the four tracks were finished in the home studio over the duration of two sunny weeks. The songs on 75019 are the earliest recordings of the C Douglas project and therefore might remain as some of the most important. C Douglas shares:

“In years to come, I will look back at my early days living in Paris and will remember the small bedroom and how these four songs began. The old wooden desk and the view of the park from my bedroom window.”

“It’s the collective work of a strange trio: myself, Golden Lion Sounds and Steve Cobby. A group of people who all love doing music our own way.”

For more information on C Douglas please check their instagram.

For more information on Golden Lion Sounds please check their instagram.

For more information on Steve Cobby please check their instagram.

Building from acoustic strums layered with Wilder’s intimate vocals emboying sweetness and strength; into a swaggering rock chorus that’s bristling with confidence chunky guitar hooks and bursting into a cathartic chorus. Wilder’s voice is hyper-femme, heavy and ethereal all at once.

“This is my go at cock rock. I love Pearl Jam, I love Janes Addiction, I love Stone Temple Pilots, Sound Garden, Aerosmith. I love how swaggering and soaring they sound. The first time I ever listened to Pearl Jam, I was up a mountain, and I wanted to make mountain music too. Songs with elemental scale.” – Eaves Wilder

On the creation of ‘Hurricane Girl’, Eaves says how the song went from being about those who suck you in and leave a trail of devastation, to becoming one of self-reflection, leading to naming the album Little Miss Sunshine: “I want to have a sunny disposition, but that’s not naturally the case. Male songwriters who are subject to extreme mood swings – that somehow becomes part of what makes them a genius. So, I think it’s important, if you’re a woman, to be upfront about your mood swings. Because we often have more of an excuse – and it’s unhealthy to suppress it.” Eaves Wilder. 

What began as a song about those who suck you in and leave a trail of devastation, evolved into piece of self-reflection, reckoning with mood, identity and the pressure on women to remain palatable – ultimately giving the album its name.

The path to Wilder’s debut album began, paradoxically, with a period of silence. After a run of acclaimed singles and a debut EP, she stepped back from music entirely, hitting pause and questioning her creative direction so intensely she nearly walked away for good (she even, at one point, Googled nunneries). But the distance became a catalyst. Space brought clarity. Her purpose crystallised: to go big – truly big.

This “bigness” isn’t about commercial scale but emotional and elemental magnitude. Yes, a bigger sound, but also music that would make her feel tectonic – like a hurricane, a mountain, or the sun. Forces with singular intent, while Wilder felt she had too much. “I wasn’t having a nervous breakdown; I was just a hurricane making a whirlwind. I am not stubborn, I’m a mountain. Clouds aren’t pathetic when they cry, so why am I?”.

Removed from the outside world and working in isolation in her shed – where she arranges, writes and produces – she began work on her debut full-length, an escapist creation born within four walls. “I want to make worlds now”, Eaves said of returning to her musical calling. The album has been co-produced with Andy Savours (My Bloody Valentine, The Killers, The Horrors, Black Country, New Road, Sorry).

This is their first album for Sacred Bones, a label often associated with a certain kind of cultivated severity. URGH fits the mould, but not in a showy way.  Where their debut, I’ve Seen a Way, sometimes flirted with disorientation and escape, this record has gravity and mass. You notice the weight of that presence immediately. It’s here, whether you like it or not.

Much has been made of Mandy, Indiana now feeling like a “proper band,” a phrase that usually raises eyebrows. Here it’s less a throwaway PR line than an actual observation. URGH just sounds like four people who have agreed what they’re prepared to do and what they’re not. Guitar, synth, drums, and voice act as one , parts of an infernal mechanism, where each element limits the others as much as supports them. That restraint is both refreshing and faintly perverse, as nothing really steps forward to claim the spotlight either.

Scott Fair’s production is the key to this sense of containment. His guitar rarely gestures toward anything expressive. Riffs are stripped down to small blocky shapes, repeated, like building a wall around the listener. Loops come back slightly altered, though not enough to feel developed. Some sounds feel unfinished. If something scrapes the sides, it keeps scraping. If it thins out, it’s allowed to. But that too seems intentional. The album grows like a process on a factory floor, incremental and repetitive, unconcerned with whether it’s being observed. After a while, that indifference starts to feel personal.

Valentine Caulfield’s voice is often described as confrontational, but that implies there’s an opponent. On URGH it feels more like someone speaking out while the rest of the room stays quiet, leaving you to decide which side you’re on. Mostly delivered in French, her words are first received as texture and emotion, with the power of her lyrics obscured like a concealed weapon. When their meaning is clearest, as on closer ‘I’ll Ask Her,’ the blow lands right on target.

‘Magazine’, already familiar from live outings, emerges as the album’s most obvious entry point. Not because it’s accessible, but because it’s a relatively simple demonstration of Mandy, Indiana’s method. The rhythm locks on, vocals push forward, things just keep moving. ‘try saying’ follows similar logic, with vocal sample repetition used not to make you move your body, but to hold it tensely in position. Ultimately, URGH doesn’t progress, it pushes down. Hard.

The circumstances surrounding the album might explain its mood. Written in part during a residency outside Leeds, recorded across Berlin and Greater Manchester, URGH took shape while both Caulfield and drummer Alex Macdougall were dealing with serious medical issues. Caulfield lost most of the vision in one eye. Macdougall pushed through long sessions with little rest. It would be easy to frame this as adversity transformed into art, but URGH resists that (or any) framing. While the band don’t underline this backstory or ask for sympathy, that pain has clearly been absorbed into their sound.

This absorption is also where the album’s politics sit. ‘ist halt so’ can be seen through the lens of protest, its references to Gaza and resistance movements easy to spot. Yet it avoids empty rhetoric. The closest to a rallying cry is the insistent “Lève-toi et marche” ‘(get up and walk) on ‘Dodecahedron’. Mostly, it’s just political blunt force and a refusal to ease off as it shoves the crowd forward. ‘Sicko!,’ featuring billy woods, reinforces this approach. Woods’ appearance doesn’t alter the album’s balance or introduce contrast. He just comes in, does his thing and the track carries on. Another voice amid a disorienting maelstrom of noise, left there to do its work, without drawing unnecessary attention to itself.

The band refers to URGH as being cinematic. If so, it is more like Anthony Burgess‘ Ludovico Technique, rather than Hollywood, a looped scene, camera fixed while horrific events replay with small shifts. ‘Life Hex’s motif of “light as a feather, stiff as a board,” borrowed from The Craft, is a perfect example. Its pop-culture fragment is stripped of all nostalgia and put back in to work as a rhythm in the chaos. Later, ‘Cursive’ pushes further into techno territory, its pulse rigid and full of hooks, but still as punishing as a meat grinder.

Without irony, URGH is about how and why things keep going. About persistence, without being labelled brave, inspiring, or turned into another story. The artwork, by Carnovsky (based on an anatomical illustration by Andreas Vesalius) mirrors that unsentimental focus. It’s functional. Bodies as systems that either work or fail. While there is a philosophical underpinning, like many things on URGH, it is embedded. There’s no sense of a hand being held or a route being mapped out for the listener. URGH exists in its own lane, moving steadily, unconcerned with who’s alongside it or who’s fallen behind. There is no climax. The music simply stops dead, like someone cut the power mid-thought.

But then, the last thing you hear can’t be switched off, and you find yourself going back into the fray for more.

‘URGH’ is released 6 February via Sacred Bones Records.