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Matt Berry returns, this time emerging from his velvet time machine with a suitcase full of pop psychedelia worthy of a light show and some very stiff drinks, and you are but a wide-eyed innocent allowed to hang out at his groovy pad.
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.
Washes of sound surround you as half-heard vocals intertwine with half-remembered melodies.
A return, and the word to use is "unabated." Their pummeling approach may seem to lack nuance, but it's not about how the punches are landing, it's about the pauses in between that make this measured approach to aggression particularly satisfying.
The guitar and bass strings are vibrating cosmically, the drums eat up the miles, an ethereal chorus swirls about. It's not a new formula, but it's done very well, and if you need to drive for sixty miles without noticing the time go by, here you go.
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