Grinderman. You know what sounds some bands are gonna make just by reading their chosen moniker aloud. Grrrinderman. Sounds grimy, sounds guttural, sounds fucking horrid. And now they're moaning 'cause they're stuck in the drudged-out mud-ruts of what Travis Keller might call a tang-drought, and their "face is finished" and their "body's gone" and everything Nick Cave tries on this girl is utterly, utterly futile. He "fixed the hinges on her gate"_ and "petted her revolting little Chihuahua" in order to get some, but still "she just didn't want to / she just never wants to". Cave preaches like Nation of Ulysses as the verses carry on wriggling in this vein, hopping from one leg to the other to try to work the frustration hanging between them off into whatever outlet comes to hand.
So where's it gonna go, Grinderman? What are you gonna do with it? Get back up on the stage and ram yourselves further into your own rut, that's what? Howl "boohoo!" and play the messy baby? Spit? 'No Pussy Blues', if you hadn't gathered already, is a piteous, dark-headed hissy fit that mangles Patti Smith and name-checks Marcel Marceau before it bursts and releases the sort of tension to drown its title in sticky irony. The verses pine and amble, before the chorus cuts the song open with production that has that throw-it-all-on-the-pile-and-bollocks-to-it sound favoured by the likes of The Hunches. So yeah, it's pretty fierce in a wise, bespoke sort of way.
B-side 'Chain of Flowers' is more 'Redondo Beach' than 'Land...', and is pleasant and dreamy. Grinderman finds relief. As per usual though, the best bits are locked inside the tension and 'No Pussy Blues' is completely overwrought.