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As we tiptoe through sadness and calm, where security is yours for the taking, the song is at once unremarkable yet… once over is instantly missed.
“If misery loves company, petulance deserves a banquet. We’re served both in mouth watering proportions…”
“Relentlessly clever and smart… But maybe sometimes, just one time, I want my bleak future served… bleak.”
“What comes is a stampede of blues, of dirtbomb dry tracks made of squalor and howl where quiet is a hard thing to find…”
“Every part of pop’s formulas fall into place and there’s barely a hint of intention. Accidents really can happen, and like here it sounds best when they do.”
They live in a haze of accidentally anthemic self-made and self-assured angst, where webs and threads of Bona Drag and Juju clean-jangled guitars (from Morrissey and Banshees respectively) weave like a network of nerves up and through.
“Each song sounds like a deep fear of drowning …and Every now and then, and just for a second, some sugar-dirt glimmer of sound slices through but we’re swimming in loneliness still.”
Beauty and compromise run deep through the veins that are stitched into each ebb and flow. Contorted and kept just a shade out of shape, free-flowing down straights and restricted at angles, I find myself pressed and pinched then released by the unnatural designs of the album’s ambitions.
Rats on the Run 