There is a type of record which exists where a jangly riff and soprano/near-falsetto male voice, after initially sounding gorgeous and very often angelic, ends up being quite clammy and unenjoyable. Especially when, like in ‘Flying At The Sun’ (the first song here), the very male vocalist unleashes a chorus which so precociously minor chord. It has anthem potential with its big oblivion-creating title and main theme, but it does sound a bit demonic. I smell an evil plot. Maybe they do want us all to burn in flames. We go from Simon Garfunkel to a Frankentstein version of Wayne Coyne in three minutes.

The second song has a lot of slap bass, a lot of weird tribal sacrifice beats and is called 'Little Eyeball'. And so they coo… “We’re gonna see what fits inside your head.” Then there’s more disembodied bass, before a snake charm section to finish the whole thing off. A worship of the dark side! Trouble is all the big Teenage Fanclub comparisons from the first great riff will be passed of a dodgy joke. Victims of their own irony, maybe?