A neo-post-punk Swanseaic masterpiece reviews retrospectively the paramourous longings of rock’s grandiloquent past. Dylans ovre is comprised primarily of records, although he has occasionally (most often unsuccessfully) strayed into the realms of the LP. Long admired for his popularity, here the artist finds a place in music never before inhabited, a desert hideaway of broken… Read more

You hold her hand in the waiting room, nervously venturing glances at the other hollow eyed denizens of this last desperate prophylactic. She squeezes your hand, nestles her head on your shoulder, achingly trusting, depressingly young. You’ve taken her out of school today and you hide that old familiar hard under the bustle of her… Read more

Like the sweet clutter of a million tiny hammers on the face of an oiled tin sheet, Bjork’s diaphanous milky trip and base dystopia reminds one of the hardest whispers of the early Bristol massive, heard at six am on the underground from the leaky ear bellows of some jacked up urban crunk kid, still… Read more

A mike, discarded and abandoned, a fish hook swinging in the half light, the subtle gloam of Debrah Harry’s cigarette. The band have scattered like the ashes of the ghoul of Nancy Vicious, she is alone. One hand rubs along a furred belly, whilst one arthritic claw works the controls on a a worn VHS… Read more

A vast metropolis under the surface of the earth, teeming and rustling, heaving and bellowing, and from it steps a man, a hero. The crack pipe clicks against the lighter in your shaking grip, comedown a rabid waking dog that paws the cat flap of your conscious mind; afternoon the harsh bleak vision of desperate… Read more

Trying to describe this album, it’s syncopated rhythms, it’s profound melodic flow, is the critical equivalent of building some grand steam punk machine, some quaint but frightening Victoriana clockwork beast, all chromed silver and India rubber, frightening yes but quite lovely in its decadence; to shrink down to dim nano scale in a futile attempt… Read more