One sandwich short of a picnic?
There will come a day when you'll feel that donning your usual pair of custard trousers and watching reruns of Rhubarb & Custard on mute with the nest of cuckoos in your large hat squawking away just isn't enough. As your inflatable seat in the shape of Ghandi wearing a quiff slowly loses its original appeal, you and your ten imaginary friends might need a change from the 'norm'. So why not bung the cuckoos in the oven or a large, crusty baguette, put on Whirlwind Heat and laugh, laugh, laugh! Because if you like to class yourself as a bit of a loon, you'll find you have nothing on these lads.
The four songs are weird songs, in case you didn't realise this. They are abnormal in almost every respect, apart from the fact the bass player plays bass, the drummer hits the drums with a drumstick (not a large cake) and the vocalist does actually sing (as opposed to eating his own leg). But for all the sense they will make in most musical circles that don't involve custard, the singer might as well start stocking up on those condiments, just in case.
Okay, so they have structure. Okay, so they have melodies. But this is a three-piece with a simple moog player instead of a guitarist and the style of each song rattles about with a childish vibe and provides hooks as if they are the indie equivalent of a children's television show theme (see above).
And as each track settles for a slightly irritating hook, your mind will run for the closest icepack. By the final song ('I Fucked Up Air Miami'), even Hermes Tit Micklethwacker IV (Ms.) will demand some serenity and feel in need of a serious slap. Armed with crusty kazoos, random hysterical whoops, a tennis audience sample and a ping pong match going from left to right as the tiny ball is hit over your head, it makes you want to weep for the lack of sanity. Is this ping pong Blues genius or just over-active childish tendencies that are desperately trying to hide the lack of originality? Who knows. But it's on your side of the tiddly net, sir.
However, for underground Indie (and this is the disturbing bit), a drummer, fuzz bassist and moog player should be ideal as they provide a simplistic broken-down, raw edge and energy that cannot be equalled by a conventional band set-up. You get the impression that they are a brilliant live band and are capable of so much more in a recording environment (this selection marks what will be their third album), but with a slight lack of coherency between the three, this whhhacky four song release tumbles onward, down and down the hill made of jelly. There is a clear energy between them and it is oh-so easy to come out the other side of listening to this with a wad of hooks lodged in your mind. In short, good ideas are played here by psychopathic drunken clowns.
Kerpow, indeed.