Work of this quality tends to be the product of a self-contained and selfconcsious tradition, even if a hermetic one. And in this case I fancy I can hear the flowering of a Northern/Midlands sensibilty that setms orignally from the A Band, Youngs and Wickham-Smith, and Ashtray Navigations. It is informed by ecstatic jazz but its roots are in pragmatic sonic experimentalism of a determindedly autochthonous kind. You can almost smell the witch trials in this, and I urge you all to catch a handful of mane before these horses gallop over the hill - Bruce Russell, The Dead C.

Fucking brilliant. Whirling eastern tones, primal playing and dusty, dismal grain make it a sludging mess, but coherent and beautiful all the same. A great end to one of the records of the year. - Foxy Digitalis

Beautiful vinyl upgrade from one of the most consistently mind-blowing groups in the UK. This one is even more claustrophobic and disturbing than their creeped-out Chocolate Monk disc, with the sound of creaking percussion and dooms of gong tone conjuring the whole ghost galleon in distress feel of Nurse With Wound’s A Salt Marie Celeste while mutated vocals, voids of breath and Jones’s fantastic flute playing carve halos in the air. It’s still amazing to me that they manage to be so inventive and so consistently ‘on’ while working from such a minimal instrumental palette but I’ve yet to hear anything by these two that hasn’t handed me my ass on a plate. - Volcanic Tongue