Having been perfecting the art of noise terrorism for nigh on a decade now, it's probably high time that lo-fi quartet Twinkie finally bestow an album upon us.

And in true nihilistic fashion - as anyone whose ever witnessed one of their live shows can testify to - this, their eponymous long player, is a masterpiece in the art of chaos, confusion and generally disruptive behaviour.

Like the kid at the back of the English lesson that spent the whole day flicking rubber bands at his schoolmates rather than reading Kafka, Twinkie are the cantankerous ne'r do-gooders who've come to infringe the airspace between your synapse and the outer limits of your cranium.

They don't do boring things like "tunes" or even "songs", or at least not as Mr and Mrs Coldplay would know them at any rate. Instead Twinkie give us 90 seconds of feedback scraping, string snapping hell that is 'Hi Lo Medium', or the glorious pyrotechnic chaffed noise of 'Our Man D.A.V.E.'.

Sounding like Part Chimp on pink diesel, a more prosthetic-centric Big Black or just Huggy Bear with the guitars turned up to 11, Twinkie rip the heart and soul out of all conventional rock school aesthetics and smear it with the black-tarred venom of their own phlegm.

When things do get a little "poppy", as on the Urusei Yatsura-sounding 'TK-1' or the Bobby Vee pastiche 'Guess The Weight Of My Wife The Horse', it's like hearing the embryonic stages of a car crash in waiting.

Schizophrenics be warned: Twinkie are hear to twist your mind and eliminate tinnitus in a dual motion of hate. File under tense, nervous, uneasy listening.