Ant’s ever-reliable imprint screws the gadget marked ‘heavy duty’ onto his sonic bell-end and drills home a bone-breaking slab of howling, percussive carnage, rudely abetted by Rackitt. Halfway through Michael Jackson’s underpants are called to give evidence. The flip is a weighty thwacker which takes the biscuit with its warped, clanging riff action. As ever, it’s the way those riffs are deftly manipulated like a potters- wheel penis that make the tunes stand up.
4 Out Of 5
Reviewed By: Kris Needs
