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“Charmingly abrasive” sounds like an oxymoron, but it is certainly something that describes music like this, angular sounds and a distraught female voice rambling on about blue tits, and I don’t think she means birds.
Trebled-out bass lines, disaffected vocals that could very well be reading from a dream journal, and a penchant for occasional dissonance are taking the forefront in this outing, refining their savage punk structures with a more stylized approach.
Insistent angular weirdfunk, songs that sound like tape loops that have fallen out of order and yet maintain a diligent desire to be songs.
Geordie makes good use of a voice that's as smooth as silk and a delivery that promises the utmost reliability, but it's not making a discernible effort to distract from the wonderful glitchiness and complication that hides in the background.
These lads supported Mark E. Smith for a while, and that speaks loads about their ability to hit his notoriously high and fickle bar, and (unrelated) their ability to put up with random nonstop antics. Straightahead driving music for eating up miles.
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