Growling grumbling slothful chords a coming on like a Temazepan take on Speed Glue and Shinki. Yikes, the singer man's in his underpants and the Grim Reaper's turned up. What to do? Knock out a set of howling, gyrating Beefheartian messes, that's what. Recorded in a shed, or a shipping container, it's a deeply satisfying record in places. And another middle stone-aged howl that sees plaster falling from the walls and slime mould gathering under the sink, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. Get thee behind me, Zeeman!