From its grinning 'Cheshire Cat' front to the wacked outcomes of the disc, this is an amazing piece of work. A hopscotch of post-industrialised swarfings and weird balladry. A peculiar blend that scuttles within your head with an unholy light, the combined talents of Placenta Popeye, Slicing Grandpa and Opera Mort.
Treading on your notions of tunefulness with bad ass inventiveness, creating a dismembered disco-tech of jarring angles and vocal impairments, where the distinctive charms of El-g aren’t too far away… Whether slurring his Parisian vowels or yelping like an amphetamined puppy, he injects serious amounts of fun into the proceedings as well as a fair bit of unhinged terror...
There’s even a foray into pop, where the cut 'n' stapled sound has a wicked gleam of Palais Schaumburg about it …then just as you think you've had all your treats, it slams into this TG-esque anthem of hoodoo thuggery and snarling bass that lights your head right up... I tell you, by the time the disc quivers out on trembling machine limbos and bendy bass motors, you find yourself with an irresistible urge to hit repeat...
A shot in the eye for people that moan on about the future of music.
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