A National Health Warning: this review contains puns.
It seems that more than ever, bands wish to subconsciously succumb to their childish wishes, and lace their songs with this purposefully tacky and repetitive hook, played on a toy of some sort. Take Split Milk and this bloody xylophone that hovers above an already catchy song. Again, with the second and final song ‘Little Habits’, it all depends on how much you like repetition and want any old excuse to sway and flutter your arms around your waif-frame in your art school halls.
If you get past comparisons • probably a Modest Mouse-meets-Gang Of Four (and a wee bit of Libertines thrown in for a laugh) • you will feel some definite tugs within your limbs and realise that you are dancing (DAMN YOU).
There may not be much room for Split Milk to fill (a small knapsack? An unattended piece of the assembly hall floor?), but it may well stick in your mind and congeal into a rather nasty mess that looks like something else.