4 stars
Smoother than they once were, Edinburgh's premier lo-fi power-popsters
nervertheless come on like some unreconstructed missing link between
Swell Maps and Pavement, their urgently scuzzed-up melodies bouncing
along with an unashamed fondness for squiggly-wiggly guitar lines
pumped along by a drummer who thwacks his kit around the room a
post-modern Keith Moon who can't find the swimming pool. With such a
pot-pourri of conflicting sounds slugging it out over a selection of
everyday art-school laments, this gloriously messy melange of oddball
nonsense is the aural equivalent of falling down a spiral staircase,
grinning as you go.
The List, August 2011
ends
Smoother than they once were, Edinburgh's premier lo-fi power-popsters
nervertheless come on like some unreconstructed missing link between
Swell Maps and Pavement, their urgently scuzzed-up melodies bouncing
along with an unashamed fondness for squiggly-wiggly guitar lines
pumped along by a drummer who thwacks his kit around the room a
post-modern Keith Moon who can't find the swimming pool. With such a
pot-pourri of conflicting sounds slugging it out over a selection of
everyday art-school laments, this gloriously messy melange of oddball
nonsense is the aural equivalent of falling down a spiral staircase,
grinning as you go.
The List, August 2011
ends
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