Great looking Placenta Popeye release, with its coloured half-eaten xerox scrawl echoing the chaos of the music inside. The tracks here consist of neat bronchially challenged guitar action that coughs n splutters in broken lines of angular expectorant. The vox follows suit seemingly on the verge of asphyxiation, yelling its message out in a conked out pitch that sounds like the mutant offspring of Beefheart in places. Smashed and gloriously askew, like a wino support band from hell, they force their music into a space too small to contain it, the listener getting covered in the toxic overspill. I've been listening to this on my commute to Oxford, and its sonic charms have been a great in-car deterrent to road rage not to mention the classic looks I get from passers by as I'm stuck in traffic on baking hot days.
Already sold out at source, if you're quick you can still pick up a copy here and treat your ears to a caustic bathing.