Album reviews

"
A cartoon hybrid of an incredibly stupid Fall, a incredibly sloppy Beastie Boys and a dreadfully undercooked UK Subs, they charmed yours truly."

"Stewart sings of the insipid voice of his lover, wonders if he can hear their glass heart clinking, and then finally cuddles up at their “disgusting feet”. Really, you can only laugh.

"

"The Nectarine No. 9's Hanging Around/Re-Model (with it's rather risqué chorus of “bring back hanging”; which of course mutates into the line “bring back hanging around”. (I very obligingly included this caveat, just in case you were wondering about the bands views on the penal justice laws)."

"I could also detect that there's the odd nod towards Ride or Chapterhouse; listening to See Saw conjoured up images of the early 90s shoe-gazing scene I can tell you. Still, it's an interesting route to take, so long as they don't become too insipid."

"

It's a steamy little affair, this album. It groans, it drones, it grinds and it'll get you all hot under the collar.

"As you can see, there's a lot going on in this nervous, angry, very atmospheric music. This LP does conjour up windswept mud flats and big constantly changing skies (well, they are from Hull). "

"Rather understated and wispy, but very, very pleasant and a wonderful little find."

"There's plenty of effusive vocal gesturing, and wide-eyed, preacher style tub-thumping. However; there the comparisons must end, for the Waterboys never sounded like an unholy Ukranian folk tribute to Pere Ubu."

"The bratty nature of some of the music gives it a real edge; there are no cock-heavy, male hang-ups present at all. I couldn't imagine a contemporary male group making a good fist of Bow Wow Wow's C30 C60 C90 Anda! for example, (or rather, I could imagine an extremely surly, humourless and self-pitying version). "

"I can't help think that people like it (in part at least) because they really think that they ought to. And we can't be having that."

"Whatever: the lyrics are the worst thing about the record. At times they sound like they've been written after a therapy session and all of them tend to err towards the sanctimonious. The album is improved immeasurably by just letting the songs wash over you. "

"As for White Heat, well that is just a jerky ride on grandad's motorbike. It's slightly bug-eyed and strained, but it rocks in a Live at the Witch Trials kinda way."

"Also enjoyable are some of the descriptions of the instruments played on each track. What on Earth is Mystik Fogg Indikator's icy inverted crosswinds upon four strings zamboni?"

"There are some sublime moments here, especially on the track Dead Mellotron, which is completely off the wall and is the proud possessor off lyrics such as “A dead mellotron in my basement cut in half by barbarians”. Fabulous.

"Rather like two men in an argument, it keeps reiterating the same points over and over again, whether it be sotto voce or fortissimo. Sorry lads…"

"Title track, Rabbit Furcoat is a classic campfire sing-a-long. I can really see Jenny with her acoustic guitar surrounded by 100 or so wide-eyed kids."

No, the only wastrel who seems to me to bear any resemblance to Mr. Doherty is that other tabloid-loving dilettante, Sid Vicious, and just look what happened to him.

In addition, the instruments that are played on this work seem to have been assembled from various garden sheds.

It is an album of almost unimaginable folly, of incredible indulgence?

Bring your own poison? Make mine a pint of bleach.